The Dry and the Philosophical
by sixsheetstothewind
Summary: Miranda finds herself uncharacteristically introspective after the recent defeat of the Collectors. With an invasion imminent, Commander Alaina Shepard rousts the group under casual circumstances with the hope of reminding them all of what they fight for.
1. Chapter 1

12/06/12 - I cleaned things up a bit... Hooray...?

Hey prospective reders! Hope this finds you all well. This started out as a character experiment to exercise long dormant writing muscles. I thought I might as well throw it up here for others who might get some enjoyment out of it-or something! For those who are less inclined, this will be a story that features a romantic relationship between two women. New to this whole thing, so be sure to let me know if I'm messin' up somewhere.

Disclaimer: (I seriously wonder how necessary these are...): I very obviously do not own any of these characters apart from the ones I have created. Mass Effect belongs to Bioware and EA. I am just borrowing their IP for shits and giggles, and do not intend to profit from it in any way beyond getting my writing rocks off.

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><p>Miranda Lawson, in a gesture that would have earned her the belt from one of the many tutors her father had hired for her cultivation, sat slumped against the cold sterility of her desk. She stared through the amber holographic display, with a characteristically emotionless expression, at the angles a particular set of floor panels several feet before her.<p>

Minutes passed, and she had not moved in the slightest, save for the slow methodical manner in which she wrung her hands in her lap. Squeezing her fingers through the sophisticated material of her suit.

The heart beat of the Normandy-always comforting for those who spent long periods aboard a vessel-and the steady feed of the ships' perpetual status readout on one of her other displays to her right... they were just the right set of variables to set her mind adrift.

'What do I say...?'

A text cursor blinked on the display before her-seemingly caught in the same rhythmic hum of her surroundings.

Wrenching her gaze from the far corner of the room, her eyes flickered briefly to the clock before refocusing once more on the holographic document that had been sitting untouched for the past hour-and-a-half.

"0237 HRS..." she whispered aloud.

_"The mission to determine the nature, and origin of a possible machine, or AI related threat to the safety of humanity, and the citizens of the Council Territories, was thoroughly conducted by Commander Alaina Madison Shepard. This investigation, and the appropriation of related resources, was brought to a successful resolution by Commander Shepard, and her crew."_

"...Just like that...?" She huffed, and sat back against her chair.

She'd done things. She'd brutally ended the lives of hundreds-did all of them deserve it? Impossible to say. She'd spent all of the best years of her life being culled like a thoroughbred. She had orchestrated countless acts of meticulous cruelty, with vicious precision. They were her 9th symphonies; Her exquisite piano concertos.

_"The ends justify the means. They always will."_ She was surprised to hear how rote it felt. How defeated. She sniffed, and shook her head "Look at me... waxing philosophical."

She had led an incredible life already, and at such a young age. Few could make the claims she could and have the experience to back it up. She couldn't see any value in it... Not now. But to take away every moment of Alaina's unwavering dedication to everyone who had the pleasure of knowing her. To take away the every drop of blood, sweat, and unshed tears. To relegate her incalculable triumphs against the single greatest-by orders of magnitude-threat to all life. To take all those moments where we thought, _"This is it. This is where we are going to die."_ Not one infinitesimal space of willpower, and integrity was left unexplored.

_"Hell, we clawed at every desperate thread with everything we had."_

Could any of that be encapsulated in a narrative report? She wanted to pour out months of vitriol into this report; throw it in their faces. But she knew she couldn't write. She couldn't articulate words, or make them beautiful. All she had to draw from was standard operating procedure: _"The subject was neutralized upon the use of lethal force."_

"I suppose I can always fall back on a career of drafting up legal documents..." she said ruefully, then inclined her head slightly, "Annnnd I'm speaking to myself now... Phenomenal..."

She leaned forward and kneaded her temples. There was no help for it; she was exhausted in ways she never thought she'd feel again since her tenure with the Illusive Man. Heaving a weary sigh, she bent down to frisk her bottom desk-drawer. She pulled out a small amber bottle, and placed it roughly in front of her while she pushed the drawer closed with her foot. Delicate fingers stripped the flimsy seal from the bottle. She took a long drag from the bottle, fidgeting nervously with the cap in her off hand. She stifled a gag, coughed, then raised the bottle, "To Shepard..."

She held it in the air for a few moments after she spoke, as if waiting for herself to say something more, but it slowly fell to her lap. Her words hung in the gently thrumming air of her cabin. She heaved another sigh; none of this was finishing her report.

"Who gives a shit...?"

Alaina... she had never _not_ given a shit. It was her giving a shit that protected the lives of an entire galaxy. And true, they had all helped. They were all instrumental. Every one of them facilitated a vital role.

_'That's right. We facilitate.'_ She took another long pull.

Every gamble she took, and every catastrophic risk she had taken; it had all paid off so far. Garrus, Tali, Grunt, Legion, Moreau, the Salarian-they all paid off. Hell, even "Fucking-psychotic Jack" had paid off.

Alaina had paid off...

She had been swept up in all the changes Alaina brings about out of everything she does. The savior of mankind: a woman. For Miranda, that idea grew ever more fitting to her. She had given two-years of her life to bring the commander back. Shook her head at every turn, rolled her eyes at every allocation of obscene sums of money. Every concession, every measure that could be taken to bring this woman back to life had been taken. _"I was so petulant. It wasn't until Alaina had risked her own life to help me I that I finally-truly-believed the right thing had been done. That every credit, every effort had been unequivocally, undeniably... worth it.''_

Alaina would wink and say it was for "social currency." She "needed our hearts far more than she needed our minds, or our muscle." That that was just a convenient excuse, Miranda knew she just loved all of them.

Miranda bit her lip at that thought, looking down at the cap she was still fiddling with. She took another swig.

"I thought she was such a..." Miranda didn't finish. She just shook her head.

Love. How stupid is that? That was what she had that no one else did. It wasn't because she was a leader, it wasn't because she had been a marine, or that she was human. It wasn't that she was a good shot, or in incredible biotic, or Anderson's golden-child-or even the fact that she was the first SPECTRE. All of those things were just a paltry reflection of her ability to love. It was so sappy. It was so ridiculous. Miranda thought they were following someone with the emotional maturity of a ten-year old the first six weeks she led them.

"Fast forward five months..." Another drag from the bottle. She was no drinker-not by any means-but the bottle was starting to feel noticeably lighter. She swiveled her desk chair towards the window to her right, and let her eyes un-focus against the rippling cherenkov radiation-the "wake"-that formed around the ship during FTL.

Humans saw her as the greatest hero of their time. Turians were jealous and threatened by her. Asari found her to be a particularly convoluted liability. Salarians; a reckless bully. Krogan beat their chests like gorillas, having admiration only for her "fighting" prowess. None of those things were correct. It really was just her love; her incredible capacity for empathy. Miranda confronted her about this several weeks prior, just when the hour seemed darkest. Alaina just said, "It's the only real light we have in the darkness. Everything else is just cold machinery."

She wasn't a soldier, she was just a caring person. It was profound to think of how perfect a fit that type of person was for the situation they were in now. How uncanny to think of all the tiny variables that made her who she was, that made people recognize-however small-some piece of that potential, and raise her up through the ranks. From one stage of opportunity, to the next. An immaculate series of happenstance that led to Anderson's recommendation.

"'Course... It probably helps that she's an incredibly beautiful woman..."

She knew it was a lie to say that Miranda wasn't jealous of her for some time. Having no equal in intelligence, or looks, or combat prowess until Shepard came into the picture... Miranda would sit at her desk for hours after completing a mission, frustratedly stabbing away at her terminal trying to write her report to the Illusive Man, while obsessing over Alaina. Jealously aware of the looks she got from Jacob-hell any man on the ship, and even a few women. Trying to rationalize the commanders' laundry-list of achievements against her own. An inferiority complex was something Miranda had no experience with how to handle.

Her lips thinned, and she swiveled around from the window to once again face her desk. The passage of time can only be measured by arbitrary numbers aboard a vessel. Bright and artificial within the Normandy's crew quarters, perpetual blackness beyond it's hull. Landing on a planet enveloped in a red dusk, the next moment a moon in the same system is bathed in the midday light of a binary star system.

Her terminal clearly indicated that it was 0343 hours. She chewed her lip, thinking she might be a little tipsy. Suddenly a bolt of awareness, cushioned by the drink, scored up her neck. She had completely gotten lost in thought, and entirely distracted from what transpired-what had taken place a mere four hours ago:

"We completed the mission... No one died... No one..."

Alaina had likely long since retired. The entire crew where probably in the middle of the best sleep they'd had in months. Dreams of family; husbands and wives they were certain they had to say goodbye to, now suddenly back in their future. Children, and perhaps some simple agricultural unit back at an idyllic settlement.

Miranda suddenly felt very alone. Who could she see, or talk to? Oriana? Spring the trap? Bring her fathers hammer down upon them both? The very notion was asinine. Who hear understood anything about her? Who here even liked her? She chuckled ruefully, realizing that she and Jack probably shared more in common with each other than to any of the other crew members.

_'I'm just as pathological and psychotic as she is. Only difference is I haven't shaved my head, and gotten some tattoos...'_ She felt her ego lash out, but she knew the truth was undeniable.

She took another drag of whiskey-this time long. Her eyes watered as she fingered the bottle in her lap, refusing to show that the harsh drink affected her in any way. Even in complete solitude...

"Fuck it."

She stood up, but then immediately had to catch herself on the recliner as she wobbled on her feet. She stashed the bottle under her desk, and took a moment to regain her composure. Maybe now she'd _actually_ sleep tonight.

Her delicate hands quickly stripped herself of her suit; shaking it out, and hanging it within her wardrobe. She unclasped her bra, and threw it into the laundry chute, then turned around to lift a plain silk robe from a hanger. Lights automatically dimmed accordingly to her preferences, the metallic panel to her wardrobe quietly hissed shut, and became indistinguishable from the walls of the room.

Collapsing onto her bed, she neglected the pristine duvet she had insisted upon all those months ago; Instead she drew a pillow to her, and snaked her arms around it. She looked out again across her room to the window looking out into space. Beyond the boarders of the galaxy, somewhere out there in the ancient dark, the colossal Reapers hung suspended in the vast blackness. Waiting.

Or perhaps it had already begun. Perhaps a multitude of evil lights have suddenly sprung to life, and they were hurtling inwards towards the galaxy-faster, of course, than the very light they produced-to systematically eradicate all life. Trillions of lives. Trillions of dreams. Trillions of petty hopes...

And yet, time and the universe moved steadily onward. Even the Reaper cycle that had apparently gone on for millions of years, was but an inconsequential event. Both the length of time and even the scale of this grand revolution of genocide was unimaginably insignificant compared to the scale of the universe. It had been around for billions of years, and will continue to exist for trillions, and trillions of years longer. What civilizations, who perhaps thrived in distant galaxies like? Two star crossed lovers might perhaps gaze up at the sky from some incalculably distant world; they're gaze may pass over the Milky Way Galaxy and it would only appear as a blurred mote of light amongst billions. The distances were so great that the light from the millions of years of Reaper cycles hasn't even reached them yet. Perhaps throughout that entire species existence-from its humble beginnings to a thriving empire-would eventually succumb to time before even a glimmer of our light reaches them. They would remain forever, and utterly unaware of the stories of trillions of peoples lives that lived out on that one little speck. A mote that faced an enemy so great, yet at the same time so infinitesimal held at bay by one solitary life. If any of them were to survive in the end, it would be a story preserved for the entire history of all the peoples of Council Space-and perhaps beyond. A story that two star-crossed lovers on a distant world will never know about as they hold each other and gaze out at infinity.

Miranda squeezed the pillow to her body, and felt more alone than she ever had in her entire life. For the first time she could remember since she was a young girl, she wanted someone to be with her in this moment. Someone to hold her and tell her that there's nothing for it but to embrace the infinite darkness; for they had each other and that would be all that mattered...

Miranda hadn't cried in twenty-eight years.


	2. Chapter 2

01-28-2013 - Update -

Hey all! Bet you thought this story was a lost cause... You're mostly right! It's taken me forever, but I've gone through on done revisions for this chapter. Things should hopefully be a little cleaner. Stay tuned for further updates! I promise their coming. They're just coming like a glacier.

Cheers!

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><p>"Ms. Lawson, Commander Shepard has requested your presence in the mess hall."<p>

Miranda groaned throatily, and rolled away from the pillow she had clutched at all night. She grimaced into her hands, and massaging her temple "Did the Commander explain why we were meeting in the mess hall and not the briefing room?" she croaked.

E.D.I's treble voice rang throughout Miranda's cabin, "Negative, Ms. Lawson. Though, the other recruits have been given the same summons."

Her voice was pained, "Alright... I'll be there in three..."

"Logging you out, Ms. Lawson."

She closed her eyes and took a measured breath, memories of the night before re-affixed themselves in her thoughts. Pushing off of her _very_ comfortable bed, she walked swiftly to her wardrobe, pulling off her robe as she went. She tossed the slight garment and watched it flutter down the laundry chute, then retrieved a fresh set of underwear-always standard-issue black. Before long, she was rolling her shoulders back and forth to settle the fit of her clean black suit. She strode towards her desk and took a moment to straighten few folders, and toss a handful of documents into the waste basket. Her omni-tool lit up, responding with pleasant tones as she keyed in the code to initialize the connection to the ships mainframe. The display read 1720 hours.

She took one last opportunity to run her hands down her suit, and glance at her presentability in a large mirror before she strode out of her office, preparing herself to be ready to work whenever and wherever required. When she rounded the corner to The Mess, what she found was precisely what she had anticipated. Garrus, Jack, Tali, Jacob, Samara, Thane, Moridin, Grunt, Moreau, and Alaina all stood in a rough circle about the mess table. What she didn't anticipate was that they were all in various states of casual attire, and undress.

Alaina stood-characteristically-in the center sporting a decidedly uncharacteristic robe and slippers looking not unlike she had just returned from a spa. Garrus was wearing a stone colored, thickly braided poncho-a common Turian garment-with repeating white geometric patterns running along its hem. Moridin, a blue Salarian robe; appearing surprisingly... normal... without his headgear. Samara had somehow managed to squeeze her ludicrously considerable bust into a seamless black Asari dress that shimmered lightly. Moreau wore a threadbare tee and baseball cap with an understated Alliance insignia on the breast; his jeans were noticeably frayed. Miranda was grateful to see that Grunt still wore his normal combat armor.

Evidently, they had simply been chatting idly with each other, but they all quieted and turned to the sound of Miranda's arrival; the heavy door to her cabin gently hissed behind her just as she joined their loose circle. She made no attempt to hide her confusion.

Alaina smiled playfully, and danced a little on the balls of her feet. Appearing always in armor or formal commanding officer attire made it easier-but not _entirely-_-to forget that she was both young, and looked very much as she could have walked off of the screen of an Asari smut-vid.

"You're over-dressed, Ms. Lawson." she smirked and quirked an eyebrow at Miranda.

Thane, who always melted into the background, raised his hand and leaned closer into the circle.

"I too was deemed inappropriately formal as well, Ms. Lawson." Though he wore no more than his normal high collared coat.

Alaina giggled, and put her hands on her hips. "That's right. Everyone here just spent months sacrificing _everything_ they've ever known, for a burden that I wouldn't wish on anyone. However...! That must always be the curse of possessing expertise. I want to thank you all. Not Cerberus. Not the Alliance. I want to thank _you_ for what you've done. For what you've done for the entire galaxy-whether or not they're even aware of it."

She looked around at them proudly. She had a talent for diving and weaving between playful, and serious. Somehow stitching them together in a way that made her impromptu speeches more than just the mere sum of their parts.

She laced her fingers together, and appeared suddenly very humble "In ways I could never say... You all have done... Well I want to say '_A tremendous service to us all,'_ but that isn't even remotely close, is it?"

No one spoke. Everyone's head was bowed-even Grunt-unused to such praise as they were. It came from Alaina, and that meant that it was of the highest honor. Not because of her rank, or because of the extraordinary things she had done, but simply because it was Alaina. Miranda soon realized that she too had bowed her head without being entirely aware of it.

Alaina looked first to her right, then to her left. Her eyes moved across everyone with a twinkle in her eye everybody could see; you didn't have to look for it. Her eyes finally settled back to center, where she closed them. The moment of silence stretched. There was no tension. There was no questioning. There was no hesitation.

Miranda thought she could just sense a murmur of that energy-that synchronistic unity. She knew Alaina could feel it and give it direction without force. That was what she was doing right now: she was sensing the currents that connected all of them. She loved it. She loved the cooperation. She loved the devotion they had to each other. She didn't care about surviving Acuz, or defeating Sovereign, or overcoming death... None of that was as important to her as a group of people who cared for each other and were willing to fight for the greater good. These lines of connection where _Alaina's_ 9th symphony. Miranda was enthralled. She could not keep her eyes of off this innocent looking, doe of a woman. This woman who outranked them all, and was the arguably one of the greatest humans of all time.

The moment stretched for minutes. She only just stood there with her eyes closed, smiling to herself, biting her lip unconsciously like an anxious teenager. She allowed the current to run over them, and pass gently.

"We... are going to celebrate." She began simply over elegantly steepled fingertips. "We're docked at the Citadel. I've arranged everything. An all-inclusive suite at the Event Horizon has been reserved. The tab is unlimited. The bartenders are top-noch-well, sort of. The music is at your beck and call. The food is abundant. The beds are plentiful. No one can kick us out."

She sounded like a saleswoman. And Miranda knew this meant that she was trying to hide something.

"Please... forgive me... It's all I could think to do. I wanted this to be a celebration worthy of everything you all have done. And I know this doesn't do it any of the justice it really deserves-but this is all I could think of. After following my rules for so long, I thought it might be nice for everyone to have no rules for a change. A commander's duty is to see to the wellbeing of her peers, and I hope you all enjoy this. Tonight-but just tonight, mind you!-if you catch me giving you an order, I'm the asshole."

The room burst into shouts and clapping. They all wouldn't have cared if the party was in a back-alley Omega drug den. Alcohol was the language of the working class, and it was _certainly_ the language of the soldier. An open tab anywhere was the best gift anyone in their group could could think of anyway; it was simple and thoughtful. She had her gentle finger on the pulse of the group so well, that she sometimes knew them better than they knew themselves. Having a 'party' would appear plain and quaint to any Alliance commander, but Miranda knew better. Alaina's guidance-her caring touch was laced through the whole thing, just out of sight of anyone who tried to look for them.

Grunt-well, grunted-and boxed the air triumphantly a few times as the group dispersed. Miranda took a moment to contemplate the terrible implications of an inebriated, lab-grown Krogan.

Joker came up to the commander and asked her something Miranda couldn't hear, gesturing with open hands. Her eyes suddenly shot up, and she punched him in the arm giggling. He backed away laughing, joining Thane, Garrrus, and Tali as they ambled towards the Normandy 2's main lift. Alaina turned on her heel to watch them behaving like the family they all were, "We're all meeting at the Horizon lobby at 1900 hours-if you get lost the staff has all been instructed to make sure you find your way. Friends and or dates are _definitely _encouraged!"

"Yeah... You know, Shepard, I should _really_ get back to my calibrations..." Garrus deadpanned. Everyone groaned. Tali and Joker turned around to drag him back towards the elevator, he shrugged them off, laughing, putting his arms around both of them in a brotherly way. Miranda found herself grinning like a kid.

"Shut your face, Garrus, and go drink!" Alaina called back to him, hands on her hips.

Moridin had trailed after the group, sputtering excitedly about a chance to play Quasar. Miranda wondered just who he thought he was going to swindle money from, as this was a closed party... Probably Garrus, now that she thought about it.

Jack came ambling back up from engineering, wearing a surprisingly tame, dark shirt, and belted cargo pants. Even Jack had softened to Alaina's natural charm. She sauntered up to the commander with arms crossed. "Ready for me to drink you under the table, buttercup?" Alaina arched an eyebrow, "Jack, I think we both know that my organs'll be liquified long before I out-drink you. I'm in the market for-ya know-the whole healthy socialization thing. Not... succumbing to alcohol poisoning..." Jack grimaced, turning away in a great show of disappointment, "All right... Allright... I see how it is, _Shepard_... You're just too good for us-No-no I get it!" She continued towards the elevator appearing very much like a young boy, and very obviously not affected in any way.

"Will you be gracing us with your presence, m'lady?"

It took a moment for Miranda to realize she was being addressed. Alaina looked at her expectantly, with a playful expression. How could Miranda say no? Before Miranda could say anything, Alaina made placating gestures, "I understand if your too busy with your opulent social life to mingle with us low-lifes..." Miranda laughed, suddenly feeling foolish. "Of course I'm coming." Alaina threw up her arms, "Well then go throw on something casual! Holy Hell, woman, you're gonna make us all think we're supposed to be working!" Miranda didn't miss a beat. "That occurs naturally regardless of whether or not i'm in uniform." She inwardly flinched. Wishing she didn't sound so clinical all the time. Another item on the laundry list of reasons why she was one of the outcasts of the group.

Alaina said nothing, but she smiled ruefully, shaking her finger at her as if to say 'You're probably right...'

"As much as I'd love to schmooze with everyone in my pajama's I'm going to go change-meet you there, Miri?" She turned back to Miranda from across the room, her playfulness dialed down, replaced instead with a genuineness that almost never came out when she was asking for something because she wished it and not because it was required of her.

"Absolutely, commander."

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><p>Miranda eyed the clock on her computer-1920 hours-then flitted back to the mirror she stood before. Biting her lip, she looked back at the clock again. She wore a simple, but elegant black dress. Was it too much? She thought idly that one day she'll have to invest in a wardrobe with more than white, and black.<p>

"Oh...! Fuck it. It's just us. I'm being an idiot!" She bent down to fish out a pair of black high heels. She couldn't get over how she couldn't get over how this was all affecting her. Why was she nervous? What could she possibly be afraid of? Friends. Being close to people. Was that it? Was that all? She stopped once more to check her hair in the mirror-which was wholly unnecessary. She swooped by her desk to snatch a small woven bracelet, and then was out the door.

For the first time she could remember, she didn't mind the infuriatingly slow pace the elevator moved at. The time alone gave her an opportunity to fiddle with the bracelet. Satisfied, she tried to take herself in, and was pleased with the extra touch the light cream-colored cord gave.

She didn't even notice that the elevator skipped the bridge, and went straight to the top level: The Captains Cabin. The door hummed open, and a flustered looking Jacob emerged out of Alaina's cabin. Miranda jumped, "Jacob! Oh God, you scared the shit out of me!" She clutched at her chest. "What the hell are you doing? Why were you in Shepards' room?" Jacob strode into the lift calmly, his hands up. In one was a datapad. "Relax Miranda, the commander sent me back to snag our reservation."

"Oh..."

Jacob stood beside her, and fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt as the elevator door closed and began it's descent. He had cleaned himself up nicely with polished square-toes, black slacks, and a black dress-shirt and blazer. Not _quite _so casual, she noted. "Did anyone bring a guest?" Miranda didn't particularly care, but she needed something to talk about. Jacob adjusted his lapel for a moment before answering, "Yeah Garrus brought a date-Turian-named Kuh-lar-ree I think. Joker's got a grip of his marine buddies; they'll pry be there by now. Other than that..." He shrugged as he pulled a few times on his collar. It was clear he wasn't unaccustomed to dressing up. He _was_ a very attractive man. And she was surprised to wonder what his dating life was like, she was always so sure that he had done little beyond chase after her all those years they worked together.

Miranda nodded politely. "And you? Did you bring anyone with you?" He turned to her with a smirk, "Absolutely. Her names' Natalia, a biotic neurosurgeon-her brother Eli and his wife Addrienne are also attending."

Miranda smiled to herself as the Normandy's elevator finally came to a stop at the bridge. Jacob continued as they strode past terminals and the navigation center towards the main hatch. Miranda half-listened. Hers and Jacobs relationship was always easy and fluid, even back when she knew he felt for her. Always succinct, and detailed in his responses when they spoke, because he knew that she would want as many details as she could get.

"Just remember, Jacob. I have to like her. I don't want you settling down with some brainless twat. You deserve the best."Jacob chuckled, and gestured for her to step out onto the dock first "Thank you, mother."

It seemed like a long time since her and Jacob had time to themselves. And before long Miranda was enjoying herself. The long elevator up to the wards from C-Sec gave them plenty of time to reminisce. By the time they stepped out onto the Wards they were laughing and concocting rules for a drinking game based around the many missions they had in the past. Miranda's heels clicked rapidly to keep up with Jacobs longer strides, but neither noticed. They passed a group of Asari's speaking with one another in low voices. Just outside of a club they encountered a small squad of c-sec operatives guarding the entrance. One of the officers was fending off a pair of drunk Turians with three Asari in tow.

Jacob hailed a cab, and they were soon en-route to the Horizon. Miranda had to admit she was impressed with Alaina's choice in accommodations-excited even. A comfortable silence fell about the interior of the transport as they sped through the major thoroughfares that connected each of the citadels colossal wings. Miranda watched the lights of the tunnel and other ships, darkened from the cabs tinted windows, play across her lap and the small bracelet on her wrist.

"Haven't seen you wear that in a long time." It was merely an observation. She could tell Jacob didn't require an explanation if she wasn't in the mood to give one. "It just... seemed appropriate..." He simply nodded, and the discussion was over.

The cab hurtled out onto artery that branched off from one of the many speedways that would take them towards the cityscape on one of the Citadels wings. Miranda tried to remember which one the Horizon was on, but it was no use; locals quickly learned to distinguish them, but... She looked out of her window and up at the arm they had come from, now many kilometers above them. From this distance it could just as easily have been a vast plane of circuitry.

The journey from the drop-off zone, to the main lobby was quite a bit longer than Miranda would have liked, but soon enough Jacob was leading them into a rather magnificent sight: The main tower-an enormous cylinder-stretching upwards thousands of feet to the open sky. Gravity defying fountains and gardens hung hundreds of feet above them, suspended by seemingly logic defying architecture. Thousands of rooms, and balconies lining the interior stretching up until they could no longer be distinguished-far short of the very top.

Several groups of peoples from all across the Galactic spectrum-given that that spectrum was ludicrously affluent, of course-bustled about one another . Miranda quickened her pace to keep up with Jacob's longer stride; they wasted no time in continuing on towards the center. Jacob was apparently antsy to reunite with his date.

They passed under several archways in silence, each drawn into their thoughts. When they crossed beneath the last arch, the full atrium of the Event Horizon came into full view. The pair of them halted at almost the same time, and they inclined their heads in tandem to gaze upwards. The immense walls of the resort rose up around them spectacularly: elaborate grottos, and multi-storied patios, restaurants with some of the most exotic dining on the Citadel; elegantly curving walkways, and verandas. Great aquariums-many hundreds of feet across-with enormous and alien creatures gliding silently behind the impossible panes of glass, seemingly unperturbed by their unimaginable surroundings. In the center of the main tower arose a great tiered structure; graceful stairwells connected each level. This was where they were supposed to check in. It took them a deceptively long time to weave through the throngs of aristocrats and their entourages, and fleets of up-and-coming-hot-shot businessmen and women of all species, before finally arriving at the center tower. Dozens of hotel staff lined the interior of the ring that circumnavigated the base of the structure. Evidently it was the season for the indescribably wealthy to spend indescribable amounts of money at the-admittedly-rather indescribable Event Horizon. Of course, the collector ship was quite a site as well...

Not a moment later, they were checked in. Miranda sensed Alaina's touch on how surprisingly expedited their service was. It was all too easy to forget that their commander was a celebrity too... Perhaps it was not _so_ surprising. A transport was summoned, and moments later Jacob was making his best attempt at chivalry as he helped Miranda board. This was apparently the extant of his courtesies as Jacob wasted no time in casually falling back onto the finely upholstered bench; years of ingrained etiquette lesons made Miranda sit beside him with far more propriety. Their driver was an Asari dressed in immaculate white gown. She said nothing as she piloted them up and away from the main level, manipulating the flight console with a grace that Miranda knew could have only been a small piece of what was likely strict and expensive training. They climbed rapidly, circling along the interior of the tower: a great spiral sweeping upwards to the highest levels. It afforded Jacob and Miranda spectacular views of the floating gardens, and waterfalls.

Soon the transport brought them to a small landing at the highest point in the tower. The Asari driver swung into dock gently, and when Miranda and Jacob politely refused any more assistance from her, she departed swiftly back into the heart of the resort below. Miranda took a moment to look downwards; they were dizzyingly high. At almost a kilometer high, they looked out from the crest of the great spire out to the immense Citadel skyline.

A Salarian escort appeared noiselessly beside them, "Ms. Lawson? Mr. Taylor? If you would please follow me, I will escort you to your suite." Jacob jumped at the sound. Their escort gestured graciously, and they followed him through a walkway and up to a grand staircase. Miranda gave Jacob a look as they climbed, but he studiously ignored her and cleared his throat loudly while fidgeting with his cuff-link. When they topped the staircase, they had suddenly been dropped into a different world: Winding pathways, perfect spans of green lawns, gardens, and terraced hills stretching out like a dreamscape. A dozen incredibly designed mansions stood glittering amongst the tropical landscape like carefully arranged crystals.

"Damn..." Was all Jacob could say. Alaina had spared no expense it seemed. The Salarian waited patiently before gesturing off to their right. "If you would follow me, Commander Shepards' suite lies a short walk west of here."

"There definitely isn't a shortage of ground to cover, is there? By the time we get there the party could be over!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jacob-Besides, I thought you came _from_ the party to get that datapad for Shepard?" Miranda was quickly starting to regret her decision to wear heals. "Nah, I was grabbing _our_ reservation. We were all down in the lobby when she realized she'd forgotten it-I thought I told you that?" He was becoming increasingly more distracted with the sight before them. Miranda shrugged and once again allowed herself to be led by their escort. Between their incredible surroundings, and Miranda's struggle to reconcile the quaintness of "lobby" with the enormous spectacle far below them, the walk to their destination seemed brief.

They arrived at a stone pathway that ambled upwards at a gentle incline between trees and finely crafted lanterns with a distinctly fastidious quality to their placement. The cobblestones led to a cabana that crested a small rise-Miranda assumed it was their suite. It was tastefully modeled after what could be described as the Asari equivalent of the human Renaissance era: deep earthen red stone, with veins of a strange cobalt hued metal clinging to the exterior like vines. It was relatively modest, but only within the context of absurd luxury.

The Salarian stopped at the beginning of the illuminated stone pathway, and gave a small bow to them both in turn-courtesies typically made only for human clientele. "You're party awaits you, madam, sir. Please do not hesitate to inform the resort staff if there is anything you require during your stay." Jacob extended a couple credits to their escort; a tip was generally expected when they were trained in human propriety. The Salarian shook his head, and held up his hands graciously "Ah, that will be unnecessary, sir. Your host has already paid in full for my services. Once again, enjoy your stay." Jacob grimaced and looked towards Miranda, who offered a shrug. Their escort took his leave, and glided back down the way they had come. Jacob, and Miranda ascended the gentle slope to what could have only been the main entrance-a heavy set of richly colored wood. They could already hear the muffled sounds of commotion, and music coming from inside.

Jacob pulled the door open, and gestured with his free hand with more than a touch of embellishment "After you, madam." Miranda rolled her eyes wearily. She stepped into the foyer, and a significantly higher level of noise, but no party was to be seen. "It sounds like they're all upstairs, c'mon!" Miranda scrambled to re-situate her heels, before trailing after him into the living room. It was dimly lit, and immaculately tiled; a series of archways flanked by androgynous humanoid statues connected the room to other parts of the house.

From the threshold before them suddenly came the unmistakeable sounds of a person struggling. Miranda's adrenaline surged from her temples and down her chest, and in the blink of any eye she was ready for combat.

"Hello..?" Miranda paused for an answer but received none. She glanced at Jacob to her left; he merely shrugged, appearing far more at ease than she felt. She strode forward, her heels echoing loudly even with the din of bass throbbing above them. She crossed the threshold and came into a large kitchen. A skilled stone mason had made this kitchen-an incredible luxury in this day-and-age. In the corner opposite of them was the source of the sound: Thane rifling through a pantry.

"Thane...? What are you doing?"

He turned around smoothly "Ah! Ms. Lawson, Mr. Taylor, you startled me. It's good you finally made it, Commander Shepard has been waiting for you." Miranda and Jacob stood waiting for him to continue, but he was finished. "Thane, what are doing down here?" Miranda was trying not to sound impatient; all the walking on her heels had worn away some of the little patience she possessed.

"Oh... Well-you see-the Commander sent me down to procure a crate of 'fruit' called 'lym-uz,' a task for which I had assured her I was more than capable of, but I cannot seem to locate them."

Jacob inclined his head "...You mean limes...?"

"Ah yes! That's it... Uh, This is somewhat embarrassing-would either of you help me out with this one? I am at a bit of a loss."

Jacob chuckled and walked across the dim kitchen to rifle through a cupboard some feet from Thane's unreadable expression. "You got it, guppy... let's see here..."

In moments Jacob produced a crate from a low cupboard, and hoisted it smoothly onto the kitchen island. "Limes. Next time I'm runnin' from the galaxies foremost Drell assassin, you can bet I'll remember to dress up like an orange." Miranda smirked as she followed Thane and Jacob through the house and up the stairs towards the thumping music. She could feel the heat of activity drifting through the house; it colored the retreating tide of adrenaline from her moment before, and she felt her chest swell with excitement. The three of them rounded a corner, and were all greeted with quite the sight:

The room was a large open parlor. Fifteen feet of bar-top spanned along the wall to her right, buffeting a spectrum of brightly colored bottles and taps. To her left the room splayed out in a large circle with pool tables, booths, a lounge, an indoor jacuzzi. Beyond all this the room opened out seamlessly to an expansive patio garden, verandas and an infinity pool overlooked the park below, and the Citadel skyline beyond.

Jacob wasted no time in bouncing over to an admittedly gorgeous, petite woman with a dark complexion. Clearly this was 'the date;' she stood beside a couple Miranda supposed were her Brother and sister-in-law talking at her animatedly. The young woman was trying to conceal her impatience with the conversation by taking idle sips of a sparkling white wine. Jacob drifted up beside her mischievously, and her expression lit up as she reached up to snake her arms around his broad shoulders in a gentle hug.

Thane also wasted no time; he circled around Jacob to the bar just beyond them, passing a pair of bewildered bartenders to set the crate of fruit down beside a cutting board. One of the bartenders-a pleasingly dressed Salarian-put a hand on Thane's shoulder to stop him from grasping at a particularly large meat cleaver from the rack beside them. Miranda watched the exchange, but could only the clamor of the celebration around her. At last the Salarian conceded, and he threw up his hands and strode off to the back of the bar to rummage through ransack a shelf of bottles. Thane looked as content as ever; he quickly retrieved the cleaver, and immediately set about cutting the green fruit with a precarious hand.

Miranda hadn't been to a social gathering in _years; _she couldn't recall a single occasion in which she wasn't either on assignment, or with malicious intent. She stood by the threshold, not entirely sure what she was supposed to be doing-or where to look. She was just about to berate herself on her _ridiculous _behavior, when a call from Jacob made her look up. She quickly smiled-with all the propriety she knew-and walked over to their group.

"Miranda, this is Natalia-who I was telling you about-and this is her brother Elijah, and his lovely wife Addrienne." They all shook shifted drinks to their off hands, and took hers in turn. Eli was a fair dark haired man with strong Islamic features piped up, "Miranda! So good to finally meet you. Jacob was just explaining to us that you're a writer! You must allow us to pester you a bit-I'd love to hear anything you'd be willing to tell me about it." Miranda found herself grinning a bit more than the moment required. Jacob had told them she was a writer? This would be entertaining.

* * *

><p>Garrus watched intently while the bartender strained an amber cocktail into a martini glass next to the two Evrekt ales-a Turian specialty-he had already ordered. He wondered how he was going to carry all three of them at once. The bartender observed with a raised eyebrow as Garrus clumsily attempted to assemble them all in his claws, before pointing at the martini "You wanna' just come back for this one...?" Garrus hesitated for a moment, "Er... Yeah that would... probably be best. Thank you." The bartender nodded his head as if to say 'happens all the time.' Garrus took the two ales, and walked stiffly back to a table beside the outdoor threshold where Moridin, Grunt, and a Turian female sat around a deck of cards and a heaping mess of chips.<p>

* * *

><p>Jack watched Garrus carry off his third drink and set it down carefully before the Turian female at the table he was sharing with Moridin and Grunt. She snorted and turned back around to resume an argument she was having with one of the bartenders. "Look 'princess pussy-fart,' I'm tellin' you: it's one part Goroginth, one-part Ressonance, one-part Almek Shredder, and two-parts Omega Shiv, and a dash of salt." She counted out each ingredient on her fingers. The bartender wasn't in the least bit amused, "Ma'am, this is the last time I'm going to tell you. I know what a 'Rusty Brain-rape' is, and it is an illegal drink. I can't serve it to you or i'll be arrested on homicide charges, and public endangerment." Jack made a grand show of sighing, and bowing her head in defeat. "Fine... Just gimme a fuckin' glass and a bottle of 'Razer Blade'." The bartender stalked away shaking his head; after a moment he returned with a glass of ice, and a blood-red and black, angular bottle. Jack picked up the glass like she'd never seen the like before, "Who the <em>hell <em>drinks Razer on the rocks? _Jesus Christ_-what am I? Thirteen?" The bartender only blinked, and walked away. Jack shrugged to herself-or perhaps no one in particular. "Allright... Allright..." She slid from the barstool, and out of sight with a particularly loud huff.

* * *

><p>"Yes, well... Uhm... It's a commentary on the... Injustices of the Hanar and an... intimate-er... Exploration of their <em>fascinating<em> culture." Eli and his wife smiled and nodded politely while Miranda described the book Jacob had explained to them she was 'writing.' Miranda cleared her throat awkwardly, "Well I think I'm going to-you know-get a drink and go say 'hi' to some of my friends. It was so nice to meet you all! Please, enjoy yourselves!"

Their reply was lost to the music as Miranda strode away and headed directly to the bar. Surprisingly there wasn't a shortage of seating: Joker was the only familiar face at this particular moment. The pilot was surrounded by a group of marines-pounding rounds of shots and yelling obnoxiously-a good twelve stools away from her. His thinly set mouth and slow, deliberate blinking was a clear indication that he was enjoying himself. Miranda suspected that they were all a rat-pack back in basic, but... Joker was returning from his time with Shepard having triumphed over hardships his old friends would _never_ be able to comprehend. It was a fundamental pillar of basic military psychology: you'll be a soldier for life. The battles are won or lost; wars subside, but the person you had to become, will forever _be _you.

Sighing, she sat down and plucked a napkin from a nearby dispenser. When the bartender came to take her order he found her fastidiously wiping down the space in front of her. "What will the lady be having?" Miranda had never been in touch with the bar scene. "...Could I trouble you for a gin-and-tonic?" The man bowed away, and she took this moment to scan the room with what she hoped was a passable impression of contentment. The bar had repopulated during her brief exchange: Moreau and his friends were joined now by Jacob and his date. They huddled together with her Brother and his wife, maintaining a more private conversation outside of the racket beside them. Behind her was an assemblage of small tables, one occupied by Yeoman Kelly and what must've been her girlfriends, the other by Moridin, Grunt-being surprisingly well behaved-Garrus, and the female Turian under his arm who was undoubtedly this "Kuh-lar-ree" that Jacob had told her of.

Miranda turned back around when a tall, clear, lime garnished drink was placed in front of her. She thanked the bartender, and then resumed her observation: Beyond Mordin and the gamblers was an outside patio, where a handful of people Miranda didn't immediately recognize stood drinking, socializing, and smoking. A couple were taking advantage of the pool, causing a dance of refracted light to play across the dark landscaping of the encircling garden and verandas.

Off to her left, the arrangement of leather couches and low tables was the stage for a gaggle of nameless crewmen and women gesticulating excitedly as they played a drinking game. It reminded Miranda of the drinking game she and Jacob had come up with earlier. She thought that the Irishman from engineering was among the group, and-to fulfill the stereotype-seemed to be wasting no time in outdrinking _everyone._

She took her drink, and squeaked when it nearly slipped through her fingers from the layer of condensation coating the glass. Searching around hysterically for anyone that may have witnessed her mistake, it was suddenly very apparent that everyone was far too preoccupied with having a decidedly better time than she was. This was absurd. How could she have followed Alaina into the galaxy-devouring maw of the _Reapers,_ but a friendly social-function had her at unease?

Where _was_ the Commander? She seemed to be the only person to _not_ bepresent...

Her drink was good, but she knew she wouldn't have really been able to tell if it _wasn't._ What it certainly _wasn't _was a pint of Krogan Whiskey; a substantial improvement. For a time she simply stared into her drink. A sudden wave of impatient fatigue came over her; only a half-hour into the whole affair, and she was thinking about calling it a night. Alaina had paid a pretty substantial amount of money to host this party for them-her _own_ money; Cerberus certainly wasn't footing the bill-and who knew how much of her own time and effort... Alaina would be devastated if she left...

There was nothing for it but to stick it out...

Miranda drained her glass just in time for a hand to clap her on the shoulder roughly "Miranda! I thought _I_ had crippling social awkwardness-what are you doing here sitting by yourself? C'mon. We're all doing shots. This is none-negotiable." Miranda's eyes watered at the fumes burning her throat, but it was _immediately_ evident that Joker was on a crash-course with the toilet by the end of the night.

Joker's friends backed him up enthusiastically, taking her shoulder and shaking her "Yeah c'mon! Shots! Wooo! Shots!"

Joker lashed out, snatching his friend by the arm savagely. Their laughter died instantly. With a measured deliberation, he shook his head at his friend's bewildered face. Perhaps for a moment, the nameless marine intended to pry, but... Any enthusiasm he may have had quickly vanished under the pilot's expression of utmost severity. Swift and vicious retaliation flashed through Miranda's like a switchblade. Had it been in _anywhere_ else, they would have all been swiftly incapacitated; dead before hitting the floor... But tonight was a night of merriment, and _perhaps _unusual generosity. So-in what Miranda felt was an incredible amount of self-control-reigned in her temper... She bared her teeth in what was intended to be a smile, but hardly managed to conceal a snarl. Why not? It's just Moreau; it's just a shot. It's a party. What could be the harm in a little reckless indulgence every once in awhile?

"I'll tell you what, Moreau. I'm gonna step outside for a minute to get some air. When I get back... I'll... do a shot with you and your... erm-_friends_." Joker burst out with applause, bouncing up and down "Woo! Alright! You got it, ma'am!" Miranda spared him a few condescending pats on the shoulder, "Easy, thunder. Don't piss yourself." She turned and headed for the door as three more of Joker's friends sidled up to the bar next to him, spouting off like it was a college frat-party.

Miranda smiled at Garrus as she passed their table, he inclined his head and raised his glass to her. She had always carried a deep respect for Garrus; He wasn't an idiot. Upon stepping out onto the patio, she was surprised at how much quieter it was. Polite discourse wafted through the air, seemingly carried on the gently undulating tendrils of cigarette smoke curling above their heads. At least no one had to scream in each others ears to be heard. She came to a stop at the edge of the pool: A faux-waterfall across from her shrouded the courtyard in the soothing sound of running water. Beyond it, the patio extended towards a path descending downwards between lusciously manicured flowers and palms-what must be the garden.

A few easy conversations floated up from the half-a-dozen partygoers that were perhaps less inclined to be a part of the turmoil inside-or perhaps just needed to smoke. Their words drifted about beneath verandas, and tables. Most held glasses, some a lit cigarette-thankfully, no one was swimming any more.

A man extricated himself from the discussion he had been having with a few other crewman, and approached Miranda "Ma'am...?" He seemed anxious. "Yes?" she was glad her voice sounded accommodating, because that _was_ her intent. "I just wanted to say: It was truly a privilege-and, well-an honor, to work with you." He straightened and gave her a formal salute. She returned the gesture with just as much formality "The honor is all mine, soldier. Thank you. And please, go enjoy yourself." He shook her hand with restrained enthusiasm before returning to his friends.

With her curiosity satisfied, and the outdoor set-up surveyed to her liking, she decided she could use another drink. She turned back towards the cabana, suddenly feeling more comfortable with everything. There was a warm sense of ease in the air, and she thought it _might _not hurt to soak up a little of it. A chorus of drunken laughter from the bar crackled out into the night; Miranda noticed a stone stairwell, tucked away and set against the structure leading upwards. Curious and cautious of her heels, she made her way to the plain-stone banister. She placed a steadying hand and leaned into it, expecting to see another group of partygoers-or perhaps it was already far enough along in the night for clandestine drunken trysts off in the quiet places of the house.

It was a relatively modest stairwell; there wasn't anything particularly remarkable about it. When she crested the landing and onto an intimate balcony, however, the view was _very much _the opposite. At a height just enough to clear the lush tree-line, she could see the entire park. The various other 'suites' positioned among the landscape glittered like delicate ornamentation. Beyond the grounds, the vast skyline of the Citadel opened up before her spectacularly. How easy it was to forget that they were high atop a towering spire... Surrounded by an immense geometric forest of skyscrapers... The ancient wings of the citadel extended outwards from them for miles and into the calm glow of the enshrouding nebula.

"It really is incredible... Isn't it?"

Miranda jumped, searching about wildly for the source of the voice. Opposite the stairwell, and furthest from the pool and party below, Miranda could make out a silhouette perched on the edge of a chaise lounge. It rose and sauntered towards her; It was Alaina.

"Hey, you..." was all she said when she came to a stop before Miranda, just as here eyes adjusted to the ghostly glow of the Citadel. Alaina's blonde hair was styled, falling in shimmering rivulets to a thin scarf draped about her delicate, exposed shoulders. She wore a cream strapless dress, and light woven sandals.

She was every man's wet-dream. She was one of the greatest warriors in the history of the Galaxy. She was an accomplished marksman with almost any weapon, a biotic that could rival a Matriarch, and an expert in hand-to-hand combat. She looked like a Shariahna's Secret underwear model.

Maybe she was...?

"Hey..." Miranda's face split into a grin when Alaina held a bottle out to her, "Drink?" Miranda hefted it, making a great show of carefully weighing the offer. It was an Asari Champagne by the looks of it. "I suppose just this once."

Alaina hit her in the arm playfully, "Yeah, yeah... Come on; Come sit with me?" She pitter-pattered back over to the chaise and when she sat down she carefully folded her hands in her lap, looking-for all the world-not unlike a shy teenager as she watched brunette expectantly. Miranda looked back down at the bottle in her hands; it wasn't open. She couldn't help widening her eyes at the alcohol percentage printed on it's unassuming label.

"I have an opener, and some glasses..."

Miranda laughed, and cocked her head to one side as she closed the distance between them, "So... You're up here alone, avoiding your own party, and you happen to have an unopened bottle of champagne?" Alaina merely shrugged; a portrait of innocence. Miranda came to a stop in front of Alaina with hands on hips. "And would I be in the least bit off-base to assume that by 'some glasses,' you mean precisely two." Alaina shrugged again, and made a non-committal noise. Miranda caught a glimmer in the commanders eyes as she carefully took hold of the bottle and slid it from her fingertips. "Were...? Are you waiting for someone? God, _Right_ over my head! I _am _thick, aren't I? I'll get out of your-"

"Nope. I was waiting for whoever the first person was to find me here." She picked at the bottle for a few moments, and then held it out and popped the cork. She waited for the stream of foam to subside before filling a tall champagne glass and holding it up to Miranda. The small bubbles in the hissing liquid caught the pale glow of the warm night around them.

Miranda took the glass from Alaina's delicate fingers. The blonde poured another, and raised her own to hers.

"Cheers."

It was sweet, and subtle. A floral tartness with hints of something that Miranda could only describe as an earthy caramel. They shared a long moment of contented silence; the clamor of festivity below them had folded into the background. Alaina sat with her legs crossed, looking uncharacteristically demure as she stared unseeing at something in the distance.

Miranda fingered her glass, "Commander... Why are you up here by yourself?"

"Alaina."

Miranda was thrown, "What...?"

"You're more than welcome to call me by my name. We don't have to observe protocol up here..."

"Oh... Right... Force of habit-I suppose... Well...?"

Alaina sighed; the quiet pauses during war-when you finally had a chance to just _breathe_-would ever always incite her introspective side... "It's really immature... I don't think I can say it out loud." Miranda didn't answer immediately; Alaina had a seamless complexity, like a perfect sphere: Seemingly ordinary until you had an understanding of geometry. For all the intimate knowledge she had of the person beside her... Miranda couldn't truly claim to _know... _Alaina slid over, and Miranda sat down carefully next to her. The cushion was still warm; Alaina was warm. Miranda wasn't sure how to proceed; her commander had never _entirely_ leveled with her. She always deemed her problems too trivial for the rest of the crew to concern themselves with. And she _was_ their commander...

"And what exactly constitutes 'immaturity' to you?"

Alaina chewed her lip and looked up to the ancient, mechanized sky. Vast planes of metal upon which millions of points of light flowed steadily about their precise geometric alignments; droplets of creation skirting the peaks and valleys of behemothic tectonic plates.

"I guess I don't really... Know how to... be." Her statement ended rather lamely; she was struggling to articulate her thoughts.

"How to be?"

"I can't think of any other way to say it: How am I supposed to be? To-who knows how many-I'm this symbol. Billions believe I'm the only thing that stands between them and the monsters and death, and infinite blackness. Me! Alaina Shepard! Y'know, I remember like it was just yesterday when I was playing games outside with my brother back home... But it's the only memory of him I have; They were all killed-my whole family-some years later when I was around sixteen. There were so many years we spent together between that memory, and when it... happened. But that one memory is all I have left. We all learned to accept death-obviously... Their memory lives on in you, but it all just seems to unravel over time... Well, long story short: I didn't know what to do, so I... well, enlisted. What else was a sixteen year old girl to do?"

Miranda had wondered many times how the murder of Alaina's family affected her. The sterility of a military dossier didn't leave much room for sentimentality. She had _never _spoken of it. Ever.

"So here I am: A symbol for billions. To the Alliance-and maybe the rest of the governments in the system I'm the asset of the century. To you and the crew I'm your commander-your leader. When I'm up here alone, by myself... who am I supposed to be? Is it fair for me to just act like me? Is it fair to the entire galaxy if I even relax? What if I take my eyes off of things for just a moment, and I doom us all? I'm sittin' here by myself, and I can't relax. I'm sitting here, and I don't know who I am-who is it that sits there? By herself, with only herself to be concerned with? I haven't seen that person since I was sixteen. Does she even exist anymore...?"

Alaina sighed, and she rose as though she had suddenly aged a half-century. She pattered over to the banister, and leaned against it to gaze out at the courtyard below. For a brief moment, the air seemed to compress, but the sensation quickly passed. For the briefest of moments, Miranda was able to feel that weight that Alaina carried; a pressure that threatened to crush her inwards if she wasn't on guard at every waking moment.

Miranda followed, her heels clicked timidly. She joined the commander and leaned against the railing next to her, their shoulders almost touching. Alaina's attention was still drawn to someplace Miranda couldn't see; She rubbed her arms and shivered. Suddenly she appeared incredibly fragile. Miranda felt a powerful urge to slide her arms around this woman and hold her, but... Why would she do that? What would that do?

"Someone once told me that our greatest capacity for good, came from a willingness to accept fault, and humility."

Alaina continued to gaze out in silence. Below them in the courtyard, the tell-tale signs of impending inebriation were manifesting in a cacophony of pool antics. Alaina seemed not to notice, but it was likely she did. On the inside, Miranda new there was a sly grin in there somewhere... "And who was it that told you this...?" Miranda bit her lip, "You did."

The blonde woman sniffed audibly "Do I even deserve the indulgence of self-doubt?"

The Event Horizon was the brain-child of a rather unusual character. Approximately two-hundred and sixty years prior to the quiet moment Miranda and Alaina shared on the balcony of a suite, a Krogan named Jargkhin was born among a common, impoverished tribe on Tunchaka. As he grew it was quickly apparent to his clan that he was highly unusual for a Krogan: He was a pacifist.

After enduring a tormented adolescence, and early ostracism for his keen interests in colors, art, and home decor he fled at a relatively young age to end up on a freighter bound for the Citadel. Upon his arrival, he wandered around various wards, and sketchy back alleys utterly lost and despaired. One fateful day, he was happened upon by the director of one of the Citadels most esteemed architectural schools. Taking pity upon Jargkhin, she took him in. Before long she was enamored with his unique personality, and highly developed artistic inclinations. On a whim, she gave him the opportunity to attend classes at the school.

Jargkhin dropped out after only three years, but not before taking the architectural community by storm. He displayed such incredible talent, that multi-billion credit corporations and firms were gnashing their teeth, eager to persuade him to become their top designer.

After a few years of being a lead creative director for one of the galaxies most renowned luxury ship designers, he was sitting on an incredible fortune. Greatly desiring creative freedom, he gambled much of his wealth on creating a brand for his architectural expertise.

It worked fantastically.

His work was so highly sought after, that he soon eclipsed the trillionaire tycoons that once hired him by orders of magnitude. He was hailed as one of histories most important cultural figures. His was a tremendous legacy destined to be permanently ingrained in the histories of the peoples of Citadel space.

In recent history, he has become equally as popular for becoming more... flamboyantly peculiar. Going by the name of 'Khin,' his quadrillion credit empire was synonymous with divine grandeur down to every minute detail...

A gentle breeze, warm and rich with the perfumes of flora swept across the balcony. Miranda inhaled deeply, only briefly allowing herself to be impressed by the simulated weather. No expense was spared in the creation of this resort, apparently.

"This place is... incredible." Alaina sighed, seemingly content for this one fleeting moment. Miranda continued to stare vacantly at the activity below them, her bristling focus on the woman beside her allowed nothing else. She smiled at her thoughts being echoed by the commander. "When I was trying to come up with some way we could all get together and celebrate, I really had no idea what I was getting into when I put down the deposit and started making arrangements..." She chuckled to herself, and took a soft drink from her glass.

Miranda absently watched Joker drag-what was likely an incredibly expensive table-outside and onto the patio. He was very clearly struggling drunkenly, and stumbled when it's leg caught the lip of a flagstone. Garrus rushed over to him, gave him a few reassuring pats on the back, and took up the other side to help him slide it into position beside the pool.

They high-fived triumphantly. Joker armed Garrus around the shoulders, and gesticulated wildly with the other hand as he attempted to explain something-likely what the intent was with the table. Garrus nodded enthusiastically, and like a sports team, they broke apart and strode off in different directions-each with hilariously disproportionate determination. Garrus approached several groups of partygoers, and each time he appeared to be selling something. Joker disappeared underneath the balcony upon which Miranda observed, and back inside.

Miranda shifted her weight to her other leg, anxious to find something to fill the silence that hung between them. It's Alaina. She couldn't understand why she was acting so timidly around her... Where had it come from?

"I love those little moments of silence you have with friends. I always feel like so much more is... I don't know-being shared? I guess it's just one of those things..."

Miranda never wondered about things unspoken during a silence between friends. She never once had reason to care... But now she began to wonder what had remained unspoken in _their _little moment. She felt cold fingers on the back of her neck, and inhaled sharply; Alaina played at the collar of Miranda's dress, "You're tag is showing... there." Her soft hand seemed to linger a moment before tracing a faint whisper of fingertips as she withdrew. A pulse of affection shimmered outwards from Miranda's chest, and seemed to hum around where Alaina's hand had been... She wished Alaina would put her hand there again. That wasn't a strange thing to want of a friend, was it...?

The brunette was suddenly struck; a memory from what seemed to be so long ago...

She made no attempt to sugarcoat her skepticism when the Illusive Man had debriefed her on the Lazarus Project. An appropriation of resources that could have built a weapon to dwarf the Destiny Ascension? A budget that could have funded a galactic civil war, and perhaps be the penultimate deciding factor in who would be the victor? It may have been enough to supplant the Shadow Broker! All of that, to bring back one woman? _One...?! _It seemed there was a rhyme behind his every reason. He had insisted that Alaina be as _close_ to her original self as possible. Every salvageable living cell of grey brain matter, every drop of blood, every molecule of calcium in her bones. Any measure necessary to revive everything to as close to it's original state as possible was to be carried out without error.

The Illusive Man knew what Miranda could never imagine then. What Miranda had only just come to truly realize: It wasn't about firepower. It wasn't about building the ultimate killing machine. It was about building a _person._ Building a life in _all_ of its intricate shortcomings, _all_ of its elegant flaws. Those little imperfections were far more important than the power to puncha hole through a dreadnaught, or a battalion of soldiers...

Those imperfections were incalculably more precious than anything in the entire galaxy; she was the savior of all life as they knew it. She had to be who she was if they were to survive; to come out on the other side of this ultimate darkness, and still be who they were as people... As life... It was Joker scuttling around, haphazardly arranging red cups for a drinking game with Garrus, Jack, Jacob, and a handful of other crewman. It was Alaina throwing a party for the people she cared about. It was that particular moment when a soldier experiences a moment of compassion, and decides not to pull the trigger. It was the horrific cruelty that slaughtered Alaina's family-and countless more across countless systems. Were any variable to change, it would all be obliterated in the face of the Reapers...

* * *

><p>Jacob and Natalia stood at one end of the table beside the pool, Joker and Garrus across from them. Around them a small group of spectators were quickly congregating. Before each of them was a triangular arrangement of six party-cups. Jacob stood back from the table, behind his own identical arrangement of cups. He tossed a small ball at the opposing cups, and... It landed in one in the back row, the cup swiveling-seemingly drunk itself-precariously for a moment before it settled. Jacob threw up his fist excitedly. Natalia clutched at his arm, a big grin splitting her face. Garrus hung his head for a moment; Joker looked like he was trying to shake off a cobweb.<p>

Alaina sighed dreamily, and leaned forward propping her head on her arm. "Oh good... They busted out the 'Trigger Finger.' And all this time, here I was, worried they'd never have something to keep them out of trouble..."

Miranda giggled "The game they're playing? I've never played it."

Alaina shot up, looking into the brunettes eyes intensely. "You've _never_ played 'Trigger Finger?'"

Miranda shrugged, unable to hide her amusement. Alaina flashed a devious smile, and leaned out over the railing. "Oi! Joker! Put me and Miranda on the sign-up!" Moreau stood about face, and saluted just as Jacob made another cup. When the pilot turned back to their game, his Turian companion was waving a cup of beer in his face. To Joker's credit, he took it and downed it without hesitation.

Alaina quirked an eyebrow playfully at Miranda's growing smile, and began refilling their glasses "Well Ms. Lawson, it appears as though you and I have a bottle to finish. Cheers to...?" She held out her glass expectantly. Her fingertips curled around the stem in a gentle way that was uniquely hers; Miranda allowed herself to follow the curve of the woman's arm to her delicate shoulders, her gaze flickered briefly from Alaina's glowing skin to her chest and lithe frame.

A blaze of sensation seared up Miranda, and streamed out across her scalp like molten fissures. Her mind hazed as though struck. Something inside Miranda had been irreparably altered; Undeniably, unequivocally, and forever changed. Alaina was beautiful. She was incredibly beautiful. She was loving, and caring. She was smooth, and feminine. She had a spirit that couldn't be crushed by a force that crushed galaxies.

A lifetime of training was only just enough to conceal the torrential synapse scoring through Miranda like freezing lightning. Her world rang like a gong; an unfocused thought like slid across her mind like a bead of sweat.

'I'm in love with her.'

Miranda's arm moved smoothly, naturally; there was no allusion to anything out of the ordinary. Their glasses clinked satisfyingly. Miranda's voice was calm, but sprinkled with a level of excitement that would be appropriate for the occasion.

"Cheers to imperfections."

Alaina inclined her head reverently, and they both tilted their heads back to empty their glasses.


	3. Chapter 3

01-29-2013 - Update -

Hey all! Look at that... Another chapter revised. Hoowee.

Enjoy, and as always, cheers!

* * *

><p>"Jesus-fucking-Christ! It hasn't even been two hours yet. What a gaggle of pussy-ass drinkers-the Turian is already losing his shit! This fucking sucks ass."<p>

Several flashes illuminated Jack's face as she struggled with a lighter for a smoke. Engineer Donnelly, who had taken a cautious seat beside her only moments before-as a gesture of social goodwill, immediately realized this was a grievous error, but he was moments away from making an even greater mistake: attempting to hold a civilized discussion with her.

"We're all just trying to 'ave a good time, y'know? You 'oughtta give it a shot one of these days." The dark frothy ale he attended to seemed to have thickened his accent.

"With you people? I'd rather piss glass." Her eyes flickered a dangerous amber as she took a heavy drag from her cigarette.

"You really are the portrait of charm, aren't yeah?" Donnelly quickly took his leave when he saw Daniels and Adams giving him significant looks from the other side of the pool.

Jack took another long drag, and leaned back in her chair with no shortage of extravagance; she made it perfectly clear that she was completely at ease.  
>"Fuckin' right I am..."<p>

* * *

><p>Garrus Vakarian prided himself on many things. He couldn't quite recall what all of those things were at the moment-but one of them was being able to hold his liquor. He wasn't no softskin-recruit. He could drink anyone of these amateurs under the table. Target practice? Please. He wrote the goddamn book on 'Target Practice' back when he was at C-Sec. Hell, he wrote a second edition when he was masquerading around Omega during his Archangel days.<p>

None of his internal monologue kept him from being all to aware when Jacob sunk another cup. Garrus flared his mandibles in irritation; It was one of his 'dextro' beers. They were down three now.

Jacob started dancing like he was mid-floor at Purgatory, thrusting his hips and slapping imaginary and-presumably-female asses. "Oh yeah baby! You like that? I got dis shit on lock!" Natalia put her forehead in her hand and tried, with great difficulty, not to laugh. Garrus thought the whole display was baffling.

Joker flicked liquid from the ball fastidiously as he prepared to shoot, "Jacob, please. Your black is showing." For several seconds, Jacob's only response was to begin moonwalking back and forth across the flagstones. "You know you love it, Joker. Uhuh... Uhuh... Yeah..."

"Only if I got my beer-goggles on."  
>Suddenly, he bounced the ball off of the puddled surface of the table. It arced gracefully, and into Jacob's and Natalia's frontmost cup. Several moments passed before Jacob realized what had happened; He leapt forward, flailing his arms in a futile attempt to impede the small object.<br>Joker stood with his feet planted, arms folded, and a perfectly smug expression. Garrus punched the air triumphantly. Jacob's expression darkened, shaking his head at the small orange ball floating in their frontmost cup. "You crafty little cripple."

Joker made casual brushing gestures across his shoulders, "Drink up, my 're lookin' pretty parched over there." They all laughed. Jacob crossed over with a bounce in his step, clapping each of them in turn on the back jovially. Gathering his date, the pilot, and the Turian in his arms he led them off the patio towards the bar.

"...My black is showing...? C'mon gimpy, let's all get shots."

* * *

><p>Dr. Chakwas sat, quite contentedly, by herself in the lounge area upon a contemporary leather chair beside a cheerfully crackling fire. Her conservative posture bespoke of her ever present air of gentle dignity. Her attention drawn levelly to the dancing flames before her, she held a rather full glass of red wine. All around her the sound of loud music, and imbibing young people grew in steady increments. She didn't mind. In fact, she was having a great time. It was a rather pleasant contrast to be surrounded by amber light and good natured recklessness instead of the sedating tone of medical equipment. Well that, and patients in varying degrees of horrific injury. She wondered where Alaina had gotten off to. Some intelligent company wouldn't be too far amiss, after all. Likely she had found a hole to hide in, hoping she could go unnoticed.<p>

The wine she drank came from a vineyard on Eden Prime. When a Collector attack seemed imminent, well... Production had ceased. Who could say when, or if they would ever resume? By happenstance, she had saved a bottle. One of the only victims of her mild hoarding tendencies, she carted it along her many moves over the past several years, unable to throw it out or settle upon an occasion to drink it. This particular occasion seemed as good as any. Indeed, she still had a half a bottle. She took a sip with her usual propriety, and busied herself with trying to articulate the flavor; they were presumably ingredients native only to Eden Prime beyond count. She was no wine-snob. It just tasted like decent wine to her, and that was precisely what she wanted.

Thane's distinct rasp cut through the din from somewhere across the room, but it was impossible to discern what he had said. Here he was, partying like the best of them with a culture completely antithetical to his own of faith and redemption. All of them scurrying about, clutching to anything that might enrich their lives with more meaning than the biological processes that went on in their bodies.

Perhaps there wasn't much a difference after all, she thought.

How much time did Thane have left? His condition would be unlikely to allow him more than a few months at best. The fact that he was here-partaking in activities the Drell likely saw as abhorrent; stretching across huge cultural boundaries to help facilitate a good time for his friends while he silently died-had Thane's interpretation of romanticism written _all_ over it.

'Interesting how a person is defined in their life.' She thought. 'Do we chose it for ourselves? Is it chosen for us? Who gets remembered as the one who died of cancer, and who gets remembered as the one who 'lit up a room,' and why?'

Perhaps it was just human nature. The very same nature they were all laying down their lives to preserve. She took another drink, this time a much larger one.

She supposed any assemblage of ideologies would suffice... They would be what they would be: nothing more sentimental than the petulant squabbling of organic life, driven to endure long enough to reproduce. She rather would have liked Legions' opinion on the matter at the moment. Was a Geth even capable of the philosophical definition of an 'opinion?' She could hazard a guess or two at what the synthetic might say: 'An inherently subjective framework, commonly identified as a 'belief,' in response to the cognition of predicated actualities in the context of a specific environmental circumstances .''

That was the poetry, _right there_. The skittering chaos of-apparent-free will, and all it's barbaric inadequacies-all of it's ruthless simplicity. All of its... Imperfection.

She wondered what the implications for reality were. A colony of some particular species of ants, trying desperately to eradicate a colony of some _other_ species of ant; A tribe of people who believe their way of life is morally superior, warring with another tribe of people with altogether different, but equally strong beliefs; A race-if they could even be described in a such a way-of sentient machines-whose intelligence supposedly occupied a realm of existence utterly incomprehensible to organic life-in one indiscernible corner of the universe, attempting to homogenize a collection of organic processes in some _other _indiscernible corner of the universe. Black versus white. Protons cancelling out anti-protons.

The same story, seemingly scalable on every conceivable level. She was unfamiliar with the current prevailing theories in cosmology-or philosophy for that matter, but she couldn't help wondering what kind of commentary it all made on the nature of the universe they lived in... It was all so exhausting to consider...

She downed the rest of her wine, and meticulously poured herself another glass.

* * *

><p>Turian brandy had unique properties: apart from its faint blue luminescence, it's viscosity was many times lower than water; not for the first time, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya exploited this fact. Her emergency induction ports were ideal for... <em>Additional <em>suit functions. A complex series of nano-filtration systems kept any wayward microbes well at bay, and another series of small mass-effect sterilization technologies processed any organic material being introduced to the suit... Or something like that. By happenstance, when the liquid is sent through the sterilization systems, it is transformed into a vapor. It was smooth, and perfectly breathable, but if you weren't careful it would put you on your ass feeling like you'd had a chemical hysterectomy.

Well what was a drink without a little danger?

Tali had been so consumed with thoughts of her people-most Quarians were-it was nice to just sit down. Only having to make executive decisions about personal sobriety was _also _very nice. "Admiral Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas Normandy presiding. Statistical data suggests the overwhelming likelihood of being uhmudem'shi bosh'tet by the end of the night. Council adjourned." Tali then proceeded to shamelessly pour the rest of her drink into her suits induction port; she was just about to gesture at an approaching bartender when Jacob, Garrus, and Joker bombarded the bar space beside her like desert nomads stumbling into an oasis.

"I'll admit you've got some numbers. I'll be sure to recommend you when a spot opens up for someone to polish the scope on my rifle," Garrus deadpanned. Jacob rounded on the Turian, and punctuated every other word with a prod "That's some bullshit there ace." Jacob leaned back against the bar on an elbow and began counting out fingers "I graduated top o' my class in everything from advanced combat tactics, to heavy ordinance. Hell, don't even get me started on all the marksmen records I sacked. Three-hundred meters, you and me. I'll out-shoot you're canary ass with a sidearm." Garrus didn't miss a beat. "Three-hundred, eh? How about you get back to me when you 're ready to take off auto-aim."

Joker turned his back to the arguing pair to face Tali. "See Tali? Look at all the stimulating pissing contests you're missing out on! Can I buy you a drink?" The young Quarian again made another pass at calling for a refill. Was that the right hand motion? "Absolutely, Jeff. But what happened to all of your Alliance friends?" Joker craned his neck to look around the large room, "What? You mean the boys? I dunno. They probably went off into the forest to construct a rudimentary beer-bong. It wouldn't be the first time... Or the second..." Jacob suddenly appeared contemplative; he rapt his chin with his finger a few times. "...Or the third..."

"A... Beer... bong...?"

Joker made a dismissive wave, "Don't worry 'bout it," then grunted when he felt a sudden elbow-to-the-ribs. Jacob was passing out shots to everyone within a ten foot radius, and Joker was stalling. "Good game, Moreau. Here's your reward-from me to you. You're welcome."  
>Tali held the small, unassuming glass of amber liquid as though as though it might detonate at the slightest perturbation. "Keelah... What is this?" Jacob offered a vague shrug. "Dunno. I just told the bartender to make us all drinks as if he was trying to impress a girl."<p>

Joker seemed to be struggling with himself again. "So... They're roofied...?"

Jacob leaned forward and put his hand on Joker's shoulder gravely "Only yours, Moreau. Garrus has been undressing you with his eyes all night. I thought I'd help a brotha' out, ya' know what I'm sayin'?" Standing just behind Jacob, Garrus bobbed his eyebrows suggestively, and cracked his knuckles. Joker frantically looked from one person to the next; his expression grew ludicrously helpless with each pass. No one spoke. The moment stretched uncomfortably.

Garrus held out his claws placatingly; "Jeff, that was a joke. Calm down." Moreau let out a breathy laugh; he almost looked shaken. "Har-har-har, guys... C'mon, let's drink." No one did; everyone holding a shot took a moment to examine what ominous looking concoction they had received. Garrus held a thick brown sludge; his expression unreadable. Jacob's was a luminescent red that Tali found unsettlingly reminiscent of the horrific eye of Sovereign. Her very own was a pink vapor that was heavy enough to cling to the glass like a ghostly fog. Joker's, however, was as clear as water-a characteristic that Tali found to be rather ominous; it was clear he had made the same observation, because he had visibly blanched a shade.

After everyone had in turn scrutinized the possibly offending beverage they each held, they all stood looking at one another expectantly. No one wanted to be first. Garrus was not afraid to heed the call of duty, however; he cleared his throat and thrust his glass into the air.

"To Shepard!"

"To Shepard!" came the resounding answer, and the lounge was filled with the cascading chime of clinking shot glasses, and more than one cheer that sounded far more like drunken braying than words. Everyone threw back their head to down their shot; more than half looked thoroughly convinced the drink would kill them as sure as cyanide. Tali brought the vapor filled glass up to her respirator, and swiftly inhaled. In moments, she felt a rush, and then a flavor like fields of beautiful flowers sparkled across her palette. Several moments passed, and they all looked around at each other blandly. No one had died. Yet. Garrus smacked his mandibles absently, "Color me impressed. That... Actually wasn't too bad." A murmur of agreement echoed through the room. "Well Hell... I think I may just have another!"The room exploded into cheers.

Jacob suddenly jerked as though shocked, and in moments, was scrambling away in an awkward attempt to extricate himself from the tumult. "Sorry guys-forgot something-gimme' a-uh-be right back, I mean-" He knocked over a stool and tripped over chair as he scurried outside past tables and out into the night.

Tali-though her visor admittedly impeded any visual emotional cues-sat rooted to the spot; her glowing eyes blinked. Joker looked rather like someone was tickling the bottom of his foot, while some of Garrus' more feline-that is to say: flexible-features curled into barely restrained mirth;  
>he spoke first and gestured absently with his empty glass. "Ya'know, I've faced down more than my fair share of Reapers with that guy right beside me, and I have to say... I don't think I've ever seen him that scared." Evidently this was all the sympathy he could spare; he shrugged and sidled up the bar for another round.<p>

"Nookie. The great motivator." Joker intoned; Garrus turned around as the Salarian bartender set another-this time larger-shot of that off-putting brown muck before him. "Nookie...?" He was truly perplexed.

Joker and Tali responded simultaneously: "Don't worry about it."

* * *

><p>"Alright. Now, I know this might be hard for the 'savior of the galaxy' to accept, but It looks to me as though you've left a wounded soldier." Miranda held the bottle of Asari champagne she had been sharing with Alaina for the past hour, up to the opalescent glow of the Citadel skyline, and shook it gently. Without speaking, she pointed to a low spot on the bottle and cast a significant look at the blonde woman beside her.<p>

"I never leave wounded soldiers, cadet."

Alaina snatched the bottle from Miranda with soft fingers, and wasted no time in finishing the the rest of it. Miranda looked as if she had gotten away with something devious while her commander set the empty bottle down on the stone railing; it made a dull clunk. Suddenly the bottle began wavering dangerously, threatening to topple over into the courtyard; Alaina caught it before it fell. She made a great show of re-balancing it upon its perch; she turned back to the shadowed brunette, pointedly clearing her throat. "Not above acting like a child I see..." It was not what she had intended to say, but It was out of Miranda's mouth before she could help it. Why had she said that? Of all things! She had more control than this! Her heart flared with the heat of shame and fear, and it burned outwards from her spine like an oiled flame. Her breath caught. She clenched her teeth down-hard on the inner flesh of her cheek... and awaited her fate.

A look of... something... flashed briefly across her face. For several agonizing moments, nothing was spoken. Miranda's chest was seething with regret.

"Ah... But don't you see...? Whether or not something is childish, does not necessarily diminish its importance." Alaina finished sagely, and locked her gaze with Miranda beside her. She had green eyes; they were no more unusual or reflective than anyone else's, but... "I... Am sorry, Alaina... I never meant it like that. I was just-"  
>Alaina slid close; her gaze didn't waver. "You're fine..." she whispered into the dark. It was so... gentle. Miranda swallowed audibly as her entire world subdivided upon itself. There was only Alaina; her hip made soft contact with her own. There was only the soothing darkness; Miranda felt fingertips brush her leg-or was that the wind? There was only the artificial breeze. There was only the glowing white noise of light and activity below them. There was only life as it was known, or could ever be known, at stake. There was only their entire reality; it was wavering on the edge of the maws of Hell. Alaina drew her hand across Miranda's cheek, carefully tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Miranda was frozen; she was wavering on an edge, about to fall into... What? Alaina's fingers lingered for a moment at the brunette's temple before she let her arm fall, and... She slowly turned back to the activity below them; her expression was unreadable.<p>

Miranda's calculating, and logistical mind ground to a deafening halt; a viciously taut line had suddenly snapped. 'Had... That just happened? Had she just done that? Does it mean she...? What does it mean?' Miranda's ears rang beneath a din of heat spreading upon her cheeks.

This was... unprecedented. Miranda Lawson did not recognize this individual who was acting in her stead. This girl who was terrified at making a bad impression with a crush. Was she even a crush?. It was ridiculous; It was just admiration. It was the psychological predisposition to the deep bonds that soldiers experienced all the time. 'Right...?'

A male voice called up from below, and Alaina made a gesture in answer; Miranda was so consumed with her inner conflict that the meaning attached to the words they were exchanging couldn't reach her. It was a state of vulnerability she had never before allowed herself to assume, but... She cared so much for Alaina. Miranda couldn't count the number of times the woman beside her had been there for her; no one had ever spent time with her-she had no friends; she was a killer. For years, she had carried out assassinations for the Illusive Man. For years, she had done espionage, and political acts of attrition. She had been the brokerage of subterfuge between warring nations, and a diplomat of peace. She could be dropped into a firefight and-without hesitation-assume a role of leadership, or a platoons designated marksman-Hell, she was as good as a platoon in some cases.

She was the director of the most ambitious medical procedure the galaxy had likely ever seen to bring Alaina back from the dead.

She had done so many things, and yet here she was... At an utter loss for words; her feelings for Alaina felt exposed like the burning of new skin in the air. She had to rationalize this emotion. She had to pull it out and examine it; dissect it, and... But this was Alaina; she was more precious to her than... anything.

Alaina was silent once more, still leaning out over the bannister to gaze at the party below, absently shifting her weight from right to left. She licked her lips, stole a few glances at Miranda, sighed; she sniffed quietly, and rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. Miranda's inner-monologue simply dissolved away. She was enraptured by the sight before her. Her heart ached as it never had before; it ached to just... Hold her. A stream of rueful self-awareness-her utter lack of experience with intimacy-made her roll her eyes despite her thundering chest.

She had to break this silence. 'Does it mean anything that she's let it gone on...? Ugh-this is asinine. I've gone through Hell and back with her, and one realization later I've suddenly forgotten who she is...'

"Alaina I-" but she suddenly turned to face Miranda with a mischievous twinkle to her eye. "You ready?" Miranda was thrown, yet again. "...For what?" It made her heart skip a beat. Was she that transparent? Could Alaina see Miranda's writhing emotion-see her... attraction? Alaina merely gestured casually over her shoulder. "To play. We're up..."

Miranda exhaled breathily, 'Stupid-stupid-stupid!' Alaina's eyebrow quirked almost imperceptibly. "...are you okay? You seem... distracted."  
>The brunette contorted her mouth into a winning smile, and nodded her head emphatically. "Y-Yeah. Yes! I'm fine. Really." Alaina found the other woman's eyes, and held their gaze once more. "...Okay." A small smile curled around her concerned tone. Miranda knew all too well that this succession of queues meant: 'You clearly aren't.'<p>

An unmistakably Scottish voice called out from the courtyard. "Whose ready to get salted with meh!" A relatively lackluster chorus of affirmations and slurred grunts rose up in answer. Alaina padded towards the stairwell, her dress falling elegantly in the wake of her sultry gait. Miranda chewed her lip as she followed, trying to keep her eyes off of the commanders' swaying hips. Her clicking heels were such an abrasive contrast to the small quiet that hung around them; her discomfort mounted with each step, as well as her frustration at feeling discomforted. She chuckled to herself, but it was decidedly grim.

The blonde stopped and turned, "What? What's funny?" Standing three steps below Miranda, she came to her waist. Her mind flailed like it was drowning, clutching at anything to say.

"You know... You never really told me why you were up there by yourself."

Alaina bit her lip; she glanced down and shuffled her feet. After a moment she looked back up at Miranda, smiled and winked, and then turned to descend the stairs. "C'mon. Maybe I'll tell ya later." Miranda shook her head, but she couldn't help but let the womans' infectious nature pull a smile out of her. Dark of dress, and dark of hair. Light of dress, light of hair. She caught up to Alaina and elbowed her in the ribs, both of them giggling. "I intend to find out before this night is over, ma'am."  
>Miranda chased Alaina down the rest of the stairs, and they both landed on the flagstone laughing. They laughed at their immaturity. They savored the luxury of laughter-for however long it was theirs to have.<p>

A roar of cheering bombarded them; The crew had found their commander. Before them the courtyard opened up with shrill whistles, and crackling fits of applause. The intrepid men and women of the SSV Normandy punched the air, and jumped up and down. They stomped their feet, and fisted each other in the shoulders. They cupped their hands and screamed, ragged and unrestrained from strong drink-from hearts worn threadbare by months of war and hopelessness, patched and torn anew. Patched, and torn anew.

"SHEPARD! SHEPARD! SHEPARD!"

Alaina's mouth had a small curve to it. She took them all in slowly, deliberately, with an almost motherly reverence. Miranda was transfixed. Indeed, the whole galaxy seemed to be cheering for her. It almost felt like applause boomed from the entire Citadel itself; it seemed to boom out from leagues in every direction. An energy of goodwill and triumph. An energy of love and hope-even if just for a fleeting moment. Stars seemed all the brighter; cheering seemed to come from every world that ever was, or ever will be. A thundering baritone that echoed out across the universe, beating against the infinite walls of blackness themselves, stretching out into eternity.

Miranda was breathless. In this one sliver of time, everything seemed... brighter. She gazed at Alaina unabashedly-how beautiful she was, and how her spirit would never be conquered... Hearing the crew, the lives of the men and women who would do anything to protect her-anything to protect her will. Hearing the cosmos itself shudder and reverberate throughout the cathedral of the abyss. In this one small moment...She was alive. She reveled in this chaos, and imperfection that these machines sought to eradicate. She breathed it in like it was her first breath. They would win. She would live. She would love. She would grow old. She would see a new age, and leave it behind for future generations. They would beat back the dark. They would.

They would.


	4. Chapter 4 - Pt 1

Hey all,

This scene was originally supposed to simply be the beginning of a big, meaty chapter update, but it's not all quite there yet. I also just wanted to post something. So there. I've re-written this scene many times, but... I'm finally satisfied with it, and ready to make it final. It was somewhat emotional to write, and I enjoyed it; I hope you guys get some enjoyment from it as well-however small it may be.

Cheers!

* * *

><p>The ground... Like everything, it had been meticulously cultivated to appear organic; Miranda had been staring down at her bare feet, but her unconscious minds' ceaseless exactitude continued to process the small details of her environment. A questioning thought percolated through her buzz: where had her heels gone? It didn't matter; they were around here somewhere.<p>

A susurrus of warmth, like the warm breath of a loved one, congealed and descended upon them. Voices stilled. The shuffling of feet, and clink of glass-the murmurs of laughter, and the scratching of lighters; all had gone quiet... But then a voice cut through the crowd, and then several others followed; they wanted a speech-the speech. Miranda looked up, and quelled her wandering mind. She held herself there in that moment. It was one of the most important moments she could have ever hoped to be present for. She couldn't say how she knew this, she simply knew.

More voices soon rose up and cascaded into the ascending fervor; they had crossed an event horizon. In moments, the courtyard throbbed once more with a rousing call. Alaina had charged the air, and tempered their energy with it. They were calling for their commander's voice; Their leader. They called for the one who bore all of their hopes and dreams. They called for her to channel their afterglow-like she had never failed to do so before, and hold them all to her, and chase the shadows away. They called for her to seize the moment, and affix it to them.

They called for her to make it real.

Alaina had remained quiet and statuesque. She was so finely attuned to them; once more quiet descended... And they waited. She straightened, and Miranda found herself drawn to the gentle slope of the blondes' exposed shoulders; she watched them rise as she drew the warm air, and settle as she exhaled. The air itself seemed to bow inwards and outwards as a response to her breathing. Miranda felt like she was in a raft drifting towards the falls. The edge was racing up to meet them; Miranda thought she could almost see over it...

"I want to tell you... That anything I could think of to say would never do justice to everything you all have done. I want to, but... I know I can't. You know I can't do that-that you can't let me get away with that... And so I won't."

She looked down at her feet, and seemed to chewed her lip for a moment. The distant rumble of the Citadel's engines, ancient and vast, pulsed like the machinery of God. The space around and between them seemed to become an immense gulf, yet without changing at all.

She brought her gaze back up, and held her head high; a small smile played on her lips. She was allowing the quiet to linger. Miranda noted, with a surge of affection, that Alaina looked nervous!

"My family..." Alaina sighed; the words were quiet and breathy as though she hadn't realized she had spoken aloud.

"You have all done... So well. All of you: my family. Our family. A lifetime of following orders from people who barely know you... People who strut around in armor that's never seen a firefight. People who wear little pieces of metal on their fine uniforms and advertise their nobility and their bravery-their sacrifice. These are the people who have sent you all to the deepest nightmares of Hell. They sent you out there... into an endless and terrifying blackness-maybe they gave it a moments thought; maybe they didn't-these people who don't know a single fucking thing about you. These people know nothing about any of you! They've never laughed with you... or cried with you. They weren't there when you scraped your knee for the first time, or when you knew without a doubt that you had made a best friend. They didn't extend a hand when you had fallen down. They weren't there when you knew you had fallen in love for the first time. They weren't there when your mothers and fathers died, and you were at your darkest."

She paused, and her gaze fell back down to her feet again; for long time there was only the sound of the night around them.

"But you know WHAT?!" Suddenly she was flaring determination.

"They sent you all out there, and you accomplished the IMPOSSIBLE! You were the spearhead of a weapon that God himself feared! You were the vanguards! Not of one country, not of one planet... Not of one creed, or any coalition. You are the vanguard of life itself-of everything that has ever lived; that will ever live! You were sent forth into the coldest abyss imaginable to face an enemy that doesn't know weakness. It has no pity, or compassion; it has no remorse. You stood tall and proud! You charged headfirst against a force of death and horror greater than any that this galaxy has ever seen-greater maybe than anything the universe has ever seen! You stood taller than the heavens! You stood prouder than any Gods! You stood tall and proud, AND YOU KICKED THOSE FUCKERS IN THE BALLS!"

The courtyard erupted. What was merely a rabble of friends moments before, was now a battalion of warriors-of brothers in arms ready to face anything. They screamed and cheered; they roared her name like invoking thunder. The men and women of the Normandy bellowed out into the night, and ravaged the air with harsh cries for war, and triumphant proclamations of victory. The air was white-hot, and their energy all but bristled and crackled. Miranda was just beginning to feel the drink again-or the lack thereof, rather-as the cheers subsided, and echoed outwards across the landscape like the decaying tone of a booming note... The courtyard seemed to bask in its glow.

Miranda spotted Jack across from her-who stood with her arms at her side, and her eyes to the heavens-and Moridin beside her scanning the crowd and wearing a smirk. She looked around again, and found Garrus with his arms around Joker and Tali like they were siblings. When she brought her focus back to the center to gaze once more at the lithe woman who stood in its center, she saw that Alaina no longer looked... very determined. Her arms crossed beneath her bosom as she held herself. Her green eyes seemed ancient in a way Miranda couldn't place, as she cast her gaze downward at something only she could see.

"That moment when your child walks for the first time. When you lay down on a soft bed you know is yours, and hold your lover in your arms; you wake up hotter than you can ever remember to find that your skin is stuck together with sweat and you try to disentangle yourself from them without waking them up... When you see your parents for the first time-see them for a person just like you; when you truly see how they had dreams, and thoughts, and hurts just like you did. When you haven't cried in years, and it all comes out at once after you fought against a broken heart for so long-you fought, but finally... Finally you gave into it, and accepted it. When you sit down with a drink, and your close friends, and you don't have a care in the world. When someone surprises you with incredible kindness. When the one person you look up to most tells you they're proud of you. When you walk through the door of your home, and your dog comes running up to slobber all over you..."

She paused a moment and looked up to the sky.

"That feeling when you lay down on soft, warm grass, and look up at the stars; when you marvel at the sheer size and beauty of it all, and... You just feel at peace with life. When you forgive, and let go of the past. When you stand up for someone else-not for glory or honor, but simply because its the least we all deserve. When an old favorite song of yours comes on unexpectedly, and all the ways it connected with you that you had forgotten suddenly light up again. When you see the face of your lover after a being away for so long. When you feel them moving against you; their fingernails digging into your back, and the heat from their breath against your skin; And your heart beats with the devotion you had always had for them-that you know beyond any doubt that you would do anything for them..."

She looked at all of them now. Her deep eyes shone with fondness, and a profound, weary wisdom.

"Those moments; They are what we fight for. And we. will. fight... Because we have to. Because everything that is good-everything that we've ever loved, or have ever loved-is on the line...

Anything we could ever hope to love, is on the line."


	5. Chapter 4 - Pt 2

'This is it,' Garrus thought.

This was what he had been waiting for; a chance to prove himself. He had obsessed over being the best, but he had failed to prove it to his superiors, time and time again. That was about to change. He was going to personally see to every scrap of this investigation.

As they often did, his father's cautionary words skittered across his burning focus like water droplets on a FTL-drive heatsink fresh after a jump. He crushed them viciously. There was a time and a place for conjecture-for deliberation, and he had come to accept that fact. But only after months of grudging acquiescence. He knew there was a lesson there; 'It'll just have to wait.'

He was long past the itch to recheck his respirator, or worry about greasing the interlocking plates of his armor, or pat his thigh down for his sidearm; By now this was all second nature. Still, he felt a gentle spike in excitement when his helmet came down and locked into place. The satisfying click of its lock greeted him like a warm breath on his neck of an old lover. He had spent the better part of last week dismantling it, and systematically replacing every scrap of metal with even the slightest sign of wear. He smiled to himself, wondering what his CO would make of some of the modifications he had made; He swore that sixty-percent of its so-called features were all just a bunch of frilly extras he would never have a need for.

'Let them see just how much I've improved.'

Scratchy pixels of data flickered across his vision as the software in his trusty blue visor flared to life. Sturdy old 'v23.6.1[a];' She was an old girl by now, but he had grown far too fond of the operating systems' personality quirks to update it. It was starting to show its age, though... Perhaps he'd have to run a few calibrations on it...

The readout of his shield and physical condition stuttered into view; it was as much a part of his senses as the beating of his heart. The airlock began to cleave; Garrus planted his feet, and engaged a stabilization field. Equalization shrieked around him like a wound in reality, and then as quickly as it came-as though a switch had been flipped-there was suddenly absolute silence. The panel slid open noiselessly to the dead stillness of open space, and the monstrous geometry of the Citadel. It was a view that he hardly noticed these days. No one who lived on the Citadel for any appreciable length of time did.

He stepped up to the edge, and stretched briefly. From this perspective, it was though he looked out from a tiny niche chipped out from the face of a massive cliff. The hull of the Citadel fell away from his feet for thousands of meters; there was a time when it used to make him dizzy. Not anymore. He rolled his head a few times, and stretched for a moment. He sighed into his helmet; he suddenly had a feeling this was going to be one of those days. He swiftly quelled the shadow of inhibition, and stepped forward into open space with barely a thought. The mass effect fields in his boots engaged immediately, and he hardly drifted more than the average stride before his feet landed firmly on the hull. It could've been a casual stroll on Palaven if he closed his eyes... He spared one more moment to ensure the airlock-now set into the 'floor,'-was secure, while affording an opportunity for his mind to acclimate to the shift in perspective.

He was going to see this through personally...

* * *

><p>"You know, Garrus, it really hurts my feelings when you don't acknowledge me-and here I thought you and I were like this!"<p>

The Turian shook the memory off and came to just as Joker gesticulated dramatically with his free hand, thrusting an entwined middle and index finger at his face. "Like this...!" He reiterated-again, quite dramatically. Garrus narrowed his eyes at the gesture, and glanced back and forth between the pilot and the sign he made with his fleshy hand.

"...Are you 'flirting' with me, Moreau?"

Joker seemed to consider this for a moment before he groaned and let his head fall into the crux of his arm. Garrus patted Joker's shoulder consolingly; "Don't worry champ, I'm sure you'll be fine." Something pricked Garrus' memory... hadn't they come here for a purpose? No matter; it must not have been that important. He promptly turned away from the pilot with a loud belch, and soon found it more difficult than it was moments before to keep his eyes focused on his new goal: the drink menu. One of their two bartenders within range-the stoic Salarian-stood before the expansive liquor cabinet twilling a rag, scanning the room like a predatory bird. Garrus turned his attention to his right, suddenly recalling that Tali sat beside him; He looked to her drink for inspiration, but was instead drawn by the conversation she had struck up with three absurdly muscled marines.

They were difficult to tell apart, but humans all looked the same to him anyway. The largest one leaned right into the small Quarian's personal space, apparently struggling to hear her. The other two marines at either shoulder attempted to find something to look at while being buffeted by an increasingly rowdy crowd.

Garrus had been around humans long enough to know that this man was not listening to a word that Tali was saying; He could've been ten shots deep, and would have been able to see the man was plainly having a difficult time keeping his eyes off of her chest.

"I'm afraid the lady won't be entertaining you this evening, gentlemen... I suggest you back off."

All three jumped at the severity of Garrus' tone, and then immediately made moves to smooth the situation over. The Turian sat motionless and met the flirt's eyes wordlessly. Whatever the poor marine thought he'd be able to get away with saying died in his throat rather pathetically; Garrus knew the secrets to appearing dangerous like he knew how to breathe: The secret was to being one of the most dangerous people alive. Simple really. Simple was usually best in his book.

"Thanks..." Tali sounded flustered, but it was all she needed to say.

Garrus inclined his head in a sagely manner before giving her a patient clap on the back. One of the bartender's made a graceful flourish, and held a drink out to Tali in an oddly shaped pyramid-like container container. "Oh that's right! He ordered me a drink. No arguments here." She took it eagerly but then paused to further inspect the drink. Soon she spent several moments examining it, looking not unlike one might appear had they come across the remains of a particularly horrifying insect. Whatever it was, it glowed with a faint and rather ominous red; its surface seemed to shimmer. The 'glass' it had been served in appeared to be a metallic, upside-down pyramid. Tali's luminous eyes narrowed at the runic symbols lining its surface like scales, and the metal that seemed to have a hexagonal grain to it.

"They're calling it a 'Reaper,' but I couldn't tell you why; it seems like such a cheery looking shot, don'tcha' think?" Joker took a long gulp from his glass, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand inelegantly before continuing. "When a kid has their power-hour, the new thing to do is a round of these. It's supposed to be a I'm-drinking-death-incarnate-because-I'm-twenty-on e-and-totally-an-adult kind of thing." There was a brief silence between them; each of them waiting for the other to voice the unspoken: kids were making games out of what they believed to be the end of their days...

For some it was all they could do.

The silence lingered until Tali sighed with the kind of resignation one has when about to bury a corpse. Before she could, however, Natalia suddenly collided into them in a fluster. Garrus recovered the quickest and gave a polite greeting, but Joker merely choked on the last few gulps of his ale, and Tali sat looking rather like her brain had yet to process this new development. Whether by intent all along, or acting upon an opportunity in Tali's unresponsiveness, they would never know; Natalia wasted no time in plucking the eerie drink from Tali's fingers, downing it a flash, and slamming the odd glass back onto the bar like she was rallying for a sorority hazing. She proceeded to bluster through her ebony shoulder-length hair, and viciously tame it into a tight ponytail. "Have any of you seen Jacob?! I can't find him anywhere!"

Tali's inflection was unreadable when she pivoted on her stool to gesture back into the churning crowd. Garrus tried to follow where she pointed as Natalia dove back into it with hardly a preamble, but he found little more than a hazy mass of sweaty, flubbery pink bodies moving to a thumping bass.

None of this was helping Garrus' eyesight, or quenching his thirst, for that matter. "Well. Good luck with that," He deadpanned, and turned back to Joker on his left; Garrus was fully committed to getting a goddamn drink, and drinking the goddamn thing, this goddamn century. He found the pilot gazing wistfully, fingering an empty glass, and evidently struggling to once again articulate his thoughts.

"No one really... Listens to me, man... Y'know...? It's like I'm not a living, breathing person. I'm just "joker" to everyone... Y'know...?"

Garrus wasn't listening. Instead, he focused on catching the attention of their Salarian server. In no time he was holding a freshly poured dextro-cocktail. Garrus sampled his beverage with a certain fastidiousness; it was important to make sure the ratios were right...

It tasted like it could kill a thresher maw.

Not bad, he thought ruefully. He drained half in preparation to deal with his compatriots' attitude.

"Why so morose, Moreau? Eh? Morose! eh?!" He prodded him in the shoulder hoping to draw attention to the clever wordplay, but the bustle and activity around them suddenly flared. 'Oh what now?' Grumbling, he shifted around in his seat towards the source of this offending racket; he spotted Jacob and Natalia just as they stepped outside, but they were soon obscured by Grunt's enormous form; he stepped between them and settled like the statue of a monstrous lizard as he looked out over the foray. Garrus' increasingly slippery eyesight fell away from the Krogan, and he scanned the rest of the room. Chakwas stood leaning against a cozy span of wall by the lounge that seemed to give her a vantage point. Several faceless marines clustered around her in their own attempts to get a view; she simply gazed out into the courtyard, intent and serene. Everyones attention seemed to be drawn to the center of the courtyard.

"Well I suppose I better see what all this fuss is about."

He squirmed around on his stool in an attempt to look over everyone, and he spotted the culprit: Alaina stood in the center, and she was very clearly about to speak. Wasting no time (time exists only for fools and the dead) he threw back his newly acquired beer, and redefined the sloppy chug. Wearing more than a fair amount of his recent beverage, he belched loudly, and made a half-hearted attempt to brush some of the offending liquid from his clothing. He gave Joker a brusque clap on the shoulder, and then proceeded to make an hysterically uncoordinated attempt at extricating himself from his stool. He fumbled dangerously twice before finding his feet, then he straightened-far more exuberantly than he was capable of handling-and ended up lurching sideways into Joker. Managing to catch himself on the bar, he took a moment to shake his head.

"Garrus, you are just a glorious, alcoholic mess right now."

Him? Too much to drink? He immediately laughed the prepostorous thought away, and picked himself up. Taking Joker by the shoulder he shook him roughly and pointed, but the Turian accomplished little more than jostling the poor man's drink out onto the table.

"Alaina's making a speech, c'mon!"

Joker made to complain about the contents of his glass, which now made up several small puddles on the bar top. "I'll buy you another, you gimp. C'mon!" He swatted at the Turian, as though a fly, "Alright, alright, alright! I'm up."

They managed to traverse the floor, and weed their way through the small crowd over to the threshold with a surprising lack of incident. They stopped just shy of the circle; Alaina stood before them in profile. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stared down at her toes. When she looked up, the fading hum of the crowd quieted. Garrus couldn't quite make out the look on her face, but the soldiers around her-Her soldiers-dialed in to her frequency, and were immediately in tune. They watched. Garrus watched. But the sight of her was not necessary; they were all channeled into that gentle presence she had. He allowed himself a moment of pride and affection for this human female. It was there in front of them for the taking, all anyone had to do was open themselves to it. It wafted in the air between them like tendrils of fog. Garrus hadn't hesitated to reach out to it.

She exhaled, and began.

* * *

><p>"And so you see-the enemy is confused-significant tactical advantage is achieved-witnessed results firsthand on several reconnaissance assignments, myself."<p>

Dr. Karin Chakwas treated Moridin's attempt to convey military tactics to an inebriated Grunt rather more like spectacle; It was far easier for her than attempting to keep up with the mad scientist's peculiarly broken way of speaking. She also noted-with a steadily growing amusement-that his gesticulating became ever more enthusiastic with each cocktail he put away.

"So... Explain to me again... How does this help me rip out the jaws any better than the Krogans have always done?"

She supposed this would be quite the sight had she been paying closer attention: Grunt was being remarkably receptive Moridin's ideas-to ideas in general, which everyone knew was nothing like just about every Krogan that had ever existed. Ever. Well with the exception of Jargkhin, she supposed.

"Krogan's have superior physicality-environmental circumstances led to this being dominant evolutionary trait-majority of Krogan's evolution took place on Krogan homeworld-Krogan environment only applicable scenario for physicality favored over intelligence-If Krogan learn-If Krogan strengthen their minds instead of just their muscles-Krogan become significantly more versatile-more capable warriors-species increases gene survival."

Throughout their discussion Karin had witnessed no small interest in Pro-Krogan affairs from the scientist; she knew he regretted his work on the Genophage. It was yet another reminder of the fascinating characters Alaina drew to their cause. Such reckless trust would have been viciously extinguished five years prior when she was still trying to find her way out from under the boot of the Alliance. The council races would never have the time they wanted for the dust to settle, but Alaina had that way of cutting through cultural boundaries. A way that politicians could only dream of.

Grunt suddenly leaped up and snarled in triumph; Karen jumped and spilled her wine "Yes...! I can almost taste it! The hot-burning of the fight! The Krogan hearts united... The feel of bones, snapping in our hands like the toys of human children!"

The outburst seemed not to perturb the Salarian very much. His expression was unreadable, but it was hardly ever anything but. Karen spared a few moments to grimace at the dark splotches soaking into the fine carpe; truly a waste. Evidently, amidst the scientist's disjointed sentences, Grunt had found a way to an interpretation of it all he rather liked. Moridin made to talk him down, but Grunt was having none of it. He stormed off towards the bar in a gleeful rampage, pausing only to shove several young cadets out of his path. Moridin deflated, and propped his amphibious head upon his hand, picking absently at his martini. It was a rare moment of emotional exposure he seldom revealed. Karen had to wonder what the scientist's inner monologue could possibly be like... She could scarcely imagine how quickly his thoughts must ricochet across his mind. What secrets did he hide...? It was pointless to ask; everyone had secrets. Especially their group.

"Interesting to think-critical thinking and abstraction-they were the only traits that gave way to space-faring species. Why? I wondered. Thought on it for many years-thought it was simply an arrangement of evolutionary niches-no particular importance placed on any over others. Either way-interesting to think."

Karin chewed her lip for a moment, and gave up trying to identify the floral taste of her wine. "Do you think it'll help? How you put so much focus on them, given...? I don't know if you do, but for whatever it's worth, I think it will..." Moridin's involvement with the genophage was common knowledge amongst the crew of the Normandy by now.

The Salarian only blinked in response, much like a salamander might as it watched a particularly juicy fly get away. He was quietly ruminating on... Who could say?

"Another drink, I think-yes? Allow me-will get if for you."

And just like that, his flitting attention span was off and onto something else. Traversing subjects large and small-and everything in between-without preamble entirely. She eyed him with a quirked brow as he hoisted himself up out of his armchair, and paused to swirl her glass; She downed its contents in a motion that only a practiced, self-medicating medical student could posses.

"Evolutionary niches..." She parroted, chewing on the word for a moment. She realized he was referring to both the Krogan's and... The Reapers. So much of every science's observational data-hundreds of years worth-was turned on its head after their discovery. Evolution followed no criteria; it didn't have a 'goal,' or an 'end result,' well... that was then... That was before the Reapers.

The cumulative understanding of biological science for every species of the Milky Way galaxy had been culled by an intelligence; was organic life's entire evolutionary development mapped out by their enemy? Had it been quantified and catalogued over millions of years? How much of their organic history was truly the result of natural occurrences, and how much was the design of the Reapers? Karin couldn't help but wonder if it was even meaningful to ask anymore.

She knew one thing for certain: that a problem could be deduced somehow. The answers were out there, all that needed to be done was to pursue them. Nothing was beyond the scope of empiricism-at least that was what generations of experimentation had indicated. The same rules that applied to everything else, applied to biology.

It was all so exhausting to consider, but she was never one to help her own propensity to over-think. Upon her graduation from medical school, she knew those skills could be traced back to the summer days of her childhood spent wandering barefoot around the expansive gardens her family's lifestyle afforded. It was a paradise for creativity, but then so was Shepard's uncanny charisma... It was oil to the flame.

She did need another drink. Questions had begun to cascade through her, and she was old enough now to know that it was only a matter of time before she would be overwhelmed. How could these machines, with their self-proclaimed intelligence-an intelligence (they have never hesitated to point out) that was vastly superior to their own-make such a glaring mistake? Sure, even with all the collective species of the galaxy and their respective technological achievements, they were still decades off from true reality simulators... So what happened? How was this entity unable to account for a variable that defied the odds? It was a level of math even cadets had a handle on.

She spotted Moridin through the crowd, and watched his mouth move as he spoke with the bartender. She could see their server was the kind of man who would only nod his head gravely when listening-in between polishing a glass with an unusually clean cloth. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she saw Thane just beyond the bartender precisely arranging wine glasses on one of the several countertops.

It wasn't long before Moridin began to involve hand gestures into the interaction, and Karin couldn't help but groan and shake her head. Men always made the simple complicated, especially when it came to ordering a woman a drink. She looked down at the empty glass in her hands again; it caught the light in a way only fine crystal could. She held it up to her eyes, and looked out at the surging mass of bodies and activity beyond her quiet chaise. Through the crystal, the crowd appeared as billowing, monotone sine wave; the world was gracefully warped and curved by the optics of the glass.

Who created the Reapers, she wondered? They had to have had a creator. Their existence didn't invalidate causality. If their claims of transcending reality were true, then they had a poor show of it all on their hands... Or appendages, rather... Why did they look like insects?

She froze; realization had struck her like a gong. She struggled to reconcile four simultaneous compulsions: set her glass down on the table before her, find a piece of paper, extricate her pen, write it down. She managed to set her glass down, but promptly knocked it over as she reached across the table to pluck a rumbled napkin from the remains of Grunt's drink. Not a second later, she was furiously clawing at the napkin, scratching out a list with handwriting that was very likely only legible to her.

She didn't notice Moridin return, or that he had set a full glass of wine before her. She also failed to notice him clearing his throat. Twice. It wasn't until he had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder did he rouse her from trying to compress a line of text into a last tiny remaining corner of blank napkin. He spoke only two words:

"Shepard speaks."

* * *

><p>Jacob took his eyes from Natalia with some difficulty. He had lost count of how many drinks he had had; he had lost count of how many drinks he had given her; he had lost count of time. He had lost count of how little he gave a damn about the time, and how much he gave a damn about the graceful curve to Natalia's waistline... or the slope of her neck. For what was perhaps the hundredth time that evening, his mind wandered to all of her other curves he hoped to become intimately familiar with by the end of the evening.<p>

They had put their game of Trigger Finger on hold while Garrus and Jacob went back to the bar for more beer. By the looks of how long it had taken-and how a situation could be seen developing between the pair of them and what seemed to be three other marines-they had definitely forgotten their mission.

No matter.

Alaina had finally seen fit to join her own damn party, and all eyes were being drawn to her; people's attention fell away into the gravity she had with an ever quickening pace not unlike the first few seconds of a landslide. Two young female cadets who had been pining away at the sign-up sheet came forward to slide the table out of the way, spilling a few cups here or there as they did. This was the same table that Joker had so painstakingly contributed to dragging it into position in the first place-more often than not, it seemed like the poor man just couldn't catch a break these days.

The crowd arranged itself around their commander like so many iron filings, striated around the presence of a magnet. He spotted Dr. Chakwas sliding into the circle behind an intriguingly sedate Moridin. She appeared grave... She knew this couldn't be more important-just as he did. Beside him, Natalia strained to adjust one of her heels. When she straightened she leaned against Jacob, and softly took his arm as they stood in anticipation. It was a moment he knew he would remember forever. The simple joys of friends and loved ones together on a beautiful night.

It was an inevitable reminder of what they had done, and what they still had to do to protect this. It reminded him of the statement they drilled into his head-into his soul-back in basic all those years ago: It was worth dying for.

Yes it was.

Jacob watched with what felt like a new pair of eyes, and listened with a heart he had given up on long ago to the sound of spent shell-casings tinkling on the ground like fine crystals. How did she do that? He would probably never know. She had that way of dragging up everything they tried to shut away. They needed it. They all needed to be reminded every chance they could get. It was just as she described; those little collections of moments and their imperfections. The small pieces of what made life beautiful despite its often horrific qualities.

She was silent now; the air hummed. He knew what was going on in her head, if only for this one time.

To make your words hit home, you had to pull deeply from yourself. You had to take pieces of who you were, and tie them to the things you spoke. If you let it, it could get the better of you; you might pull something up you thought you'd buried... He gave himself a shake, and ignored the brief glance he received from Natalia. Most came to love Alaina in their own way; she became the sister he had never realized he wanted. Perhaps he was over-protective... Perhaps he was drunk. Both were likely. Dialogue with the crew over the course of their journey chalked it up to the special ways in which she affected you; it was different for them all. Several fell hopelessly in love; many became envious of her career. Some saw her as best friend, others as a surrogate daughter. More than a handful viewed her as they would an idol; whole cultures even appealed to her name in their prayers. Very much like many of the qualities that orbited around Alaina, there was an air of the improbable-indeed, even the mystical-that was swept up in her wake.

Suddenly, she was rousing. She was determined. She was the strong woman who championed their life. She was the leader who would bring them through the horrors unharmed. She was their shepherd.

His face split into a wide grin, and everyone exploded into cheer. This was what they had all waited so desperately for. He looked down to Natalia, and she giggled and clutched at his arm. Their energy was indestructible; there wasn't anyway they could fail. They would snarl and shriek, and beat their fists upon their chests like the human race had done so many thousands of years ago on some small corner in the ancient African savanna. Other species had tried-had tried hundreds of times over millennia to fight these machines-but they would succeed. They would go forth into the unrelenting dark, and carry with them the very best of the human race. They alone possessed what was necessary to survive.

They would. Not. Fail.


End file.
